Given the ubiquitous nature of love, numerous theories have been proposed to explain its existence. One such theory refers to love as a commitment device, suggesting that romantic love evolved to foster commitment between partners and enhance their reproductive success. In the present study, we investigated this hypothesis using a large-scale sample of 86,310 individual responses collected across 90 countries. If romantic love is universally perceived as a force that fosters commitment between long-term partners, we expected that individuals likely to (...) suffer greater losses from the termination of their relationships—including people of lower socioeconomic status, those with many children, and women—would place a higher value on romantic love compared to people with higher status, those with fewer children, and men. These predictions were supported. Additionally, we observed that individuals from countries with a higher (vs. lower) Human Development Index placed a greater level of importance on romantic love, suggesting that modernization might influence how romantic love is evaluated. On average, participants worldwide were unwilling to commit to a long-term romantic relationship without love, highlighting romantic love’s universal importance. (shrink)

18. yüzyıl, estetik kuramları açısından felsefe tarihinde daha önce görülmemiş ölçüde verimli bir dönemdir. Bu dönemde oluşturulan estetik kuramları, 18. yüzyılda epistemoloji, yöntem, ontoloji ve insan doğası üzerine yapılan tartışmaları doğrudan yansıtır. İlk estetik kuramlarını incelediğimizde, kuramların kendilerinden beslendiği iki ana hatla karşılaşırız. Bunlardan ilki kartezyen felsefenin estetikteki karşılığı olan nesne merkezli estetik, diğeri ise Lockeçu empirizmin estetikteki karşılığı olan özne merkezli estetiktir. Jean-Baptiste Du Bos, 18. yüzyılın hemen başlarında “Şiir ve Resim Üzerine Eleştirel Düşünceler” adlı çalışmasında nesne merkezli felsefenin (...) eleştirisini yaparak özne merkezli estetiği kurmuştur. Du Bos estetik soruşturmanın odağına özneyi yerleştirmiş, sanatı ve estetik deneyimi öznenin bilişsel yetilerinden, duygularından ve psikolojisinden hareketle tanımlamıştır. Eleştirel Düşünceler yalnızca bir estetik kuramı değil, aynı zamanda bir sanat tarihi, sanat sosyolojisi ve sanat psikolojisi çalışmasıdır. Çalışma farklı sanat türlerinin tarihsel gelişimlerini inceler ve bu türlerin yüzyıllar içinde nasıl evrildiğine bakar. Bunun yanında, coğrafi koşulların ve kültürel normların sanat kuramlarına etkisini inceler. Daha önce görülmemiş ölçüde bir kapsama sahip olan Eleştirel Düşünceler, estetiğin bağımsız bir disiplin olarak kurulmasında belki de en önemli rolü oynamış, 18. yüzyılda estetik alanında yazan tüm düşünürleri etkilemiştir. Bu makale, Eleştirel Düşünceler’de geliştirilen estetik kuramının ana hatlarını inceleyerek Jean-Baptiste Du Bos’nun modern estetiğe yaptığı katkıyı ortaya koymayı amaçlamaktadır. (shrink)

If the physical mind is located in quantized space of the brain then how does the physical mind become the self? This remains an unresolved problem. It can be restated as how mental representations or mental states get their informational contents, and of doing so in terms of the natural functions brain states have? We call these natural brain functions not teleosemantic functions, but rather teleological functions. This is because teleosemantics portrays mental representations which must have informational contents that track (...) “operational explanations of cognitive capacities” while teleological functions do not as they are hidden in quantized space, suggesting that mind is physical. Specifically teleonomic capacities have been built into us by natural selection, which naturally leads to a teleogical notion of function. Our claim is that teleofunctionality as unification of mental states has natural functions that carry intrinsic dispositions that may be broadly defined as ‘subjectivity’ or intrinsic information content of mental states. Mental states have intrinsic dispositions to change their functions, producing correspondences to the world that includes further layers of subtlety hidden in quantized space. How does intrinsic information self-replicate content in cases of mental misrepresentation? The putative special virtue of teleosemantics and its ability to give a theory of error through ‘uncertainty’ is discussed based on a teleological functionalist epistemology. (shrink)

Formulating and translating corporate social responsibility strategy into actual managerial practices and outcome values remain ongoing challenges for many organizations. This paper argues that the human resource management function can potentially play an important role in supporting organizations to address this challenge. We argue that HRM could provide an interesting and dynamic support to CSR strategy design as well as implementation and delivery. Drawing on a systematic review of relevant strategic CSR and HRM literatures, this paper highlights the important interfaces (...) between CSR and HRM and develops a conceptual model, the CSR-HRM co-creation model, which accounts for the potential HRM roles in CSR and identifies a range of outcome values resulting from a more effective integration of the role of HRM within CSR. The paper concludes with relevant theoretical and managerial recommendations that advance our understanding of the potential interfaces between HRM and CSR and how HRM can support a systematic and progressive CSR agenda. (shrink)

Horizontal transfer (HT) is the transmission of genetic material between non‐mating species, a phenomenon thought to occur rarely in multicellular eukaryotes. However, many transposable elements (TEs) are not only capable of HT, but have frequently jumped between widely divergent species. Here we review and integrate reported cases of HT in retrotransposons of the BovB family, and DNA transposons, over a broad range of animals spanning all continents. Our conclusions challenge the paradigm that HT in vertebrates is restricted to infective long (...) terminal repeat (LTR) retrotransposons or retroviruses. This raises the possibility that other non‐LTR retrotransposons, such as L1 or CR1 elements, believed to be only vertically transmitted, can horizontally transfer between species. Growing evidence indicates that the process of HT is much more general across different TEs and species than previously believed, and that it likely shapes eukaryotic genomes and catalyses genome evolution. (shrink)

It is well-established that the experience of nature produces an array of positive benefits to mental well-being. Much less is known about the specific attributes of green space which produce these effects. In the absence of translational research that links theory with application, it is challenging to design urban green space for its greatest restorative potential. This translational research provides a method for identifying which specific physical attributes of an environmental setting are most likely to influence preference and restoration responses. (...) Attribute identification was based on a triangulation process invoking environmental psychology and aesthetics theories, principles of design founded in mathematics and aesthetics, and empirical research on the role of specific physical attributes of the environment in preference or restoration responses. From this integration emerged a list of physical attributes defining aspects of spatial structure and environmental content found to be most relevant to the perceptions involved with preference and restoration. The physical attribute list offers a starting point for deciphering which scene stimuli dominate or collaborate in preference and restoration responses. To support this, functional definitions and metrics—efficient methods for attribute quantification are presented. Use of these research products and the process for defining place-based metrics can provide (a) greater control in the selection and interpretation of the scenes/images used in tests of preference and restoration and (b) an expanded evidence base for well-being designers of the built environment. (shrink)

In a relational language consisting of a single relation R, we investigate pseudofiniteness of certain Hrushovski constructions obtained via predimension functions. It is notable that the arity of the relation R plays a crucial role in this context. When R is ternary, by extending the methods recently developed by Brody and Laskowski, we interpret 〈Q+,<〉 in the 〈K+,≤∗〉-generic and prove that this structure is not pseudofinite. This provides a negative answer to the question posed in an earlier work by Evans (...) and Wong. This result, in fact, unfolds another aspect of complexity of this structure, along with undecidability and the strict order property proved in the mentioned earlier works. On the other hand, when R is binary, it can be shown that the 〈K+,≤∗〉-generic is decidable and pseudofinite. (shrink)

Rapid individual cognitive phenotyping holds the potential to revolutionize domains as wide‐ranging as personalized learning, employment practices, and precision psychiatry. Going beyond limitations imposed by traditional lab‐based experiments, new efforts have been underway toward greater ecological validity and participant diversity to capture the full range of individual differences in cognitive abilities and behaviors across the general population. Building on this, we developed Skill Lab, a novel game‐based tool that simultaneously assesses a broad suite of cognitive abilities while providing an engaging (...) narrative. Skill Lab consists of six mini‐games as well as 14 established cognitive ability tasks. Using a popular citizen science platform (N = 10,725), we conducted a comprehensive validation in the wild of a game‐based cognitive assessment suite. Based on the game and validation task data, we constructed reliable models to simultaneously predict eight cognitive abilities based on the users’ in‐game behavior. Follow‐up validation tests revealed that the models can discriminate nuances contained within each separate cognitive ability as well as capture a shared main factor of generalized cognitive ability. Our game‐based measures are five times faster to complete than the equivalent task‐based measures and replicate previous findings on the decline of certain cognitive abilities with age in our large cross‐sectional population sample (N = 6369). Taken together, our results demonstrate the feasibility of rapid in‐the‐wild systematic assessment of cognitive abilities as a promising first step toward population‐scale benchmarking and individualized mental health diagnostics. (shrink)

In Turkish-Islamic literature, many copyright or translation nasihatnama with religious-mystical content have been written. In these works written in verse or prose form within the scope of Islamic culture and classical Turkish literature, information about the principles of Islamic belief and worship was given, and people were advised to be moral, faithful, observant of the orders and prohibitions of religion, prioritizing the hadiths of the Prophet, benevolent and tolerant. One of these nasihatnamas is Gencü’l-Esrâr, in which verses consisting of different (...) verse types and shapes are connected to each other with instrumental couplets. The author, Sayyid Muhammed Ali Riza from Gaziantep, who is a link of the Sufi tradition, tried to guide the disciples by addressing the concept of heaven from various aspects. Sometimes by quoting verses and hadiths, he used argument and proof to make his word trustworthy, and he tried to boost people's desire to attain Paradise by combining aspects of literature with the fantasy of individual paradise on occasion. In our study, in which goals and forms the notion of heaven is targeted in Gencü'l-Esrâr. For this purpose, first of all, data about the paradise in Gencü'l-Esrâr were determined by using the scanning model, which is one of the research methods. All kinds of information, comments, and narratives that can help us to make an inference about Sayyid Muhammed Ali Rıza’s vision and description of paradise has been studied under four headings: “Physical Description and Content of Paradise”, “Description of Names, Types, and Gates of Paradise”, “Description of the Inhabitants of Paradise” and “Mysterious Expression of His Desire to Reach Paradise”. In the article, it has also been tried to reveal the narrative techniques used by the author and the narrative style he exhibited in the sections where heaven is depicted and narrated. This study, which reveals that heaven is handled in detail and artistically in Gencü'l-Esrâr, which was written in 1923 by adhering to the tradition of divan literature, is important in terms of shedding light on the existence of Islamic literature in the 20th century. (shrink)

The principal result of this paper answers a long-standing question in the model theory of arithmetic [R. Kossak, J. Schmerl, The Structure of Models of Peano Arithmetic, Oxford University Press, 2006, Question 7] by showing that there exists an uncountable arithmetically closed family of subsets of the set ω of natural numbers such that the expansion of the standard model of Peano arithmetic has no conservative elementary extension, i.e., for any elementary extension of , there is a subset of ω* (...) that is parametrically definable in but whose intersection with ω is not a member of . We also establish other results that highlight the role of countability in the model theory of arithmetic. Inspired by a recent question of Gitman and Hamkins, we furthermore show that the aforementioned family can be arranged to further satisfy the curious property that forcing with the quotient Boolean algebra collapses 1 when viewed as a notion of forcing. (shrink)

In the processing of subject-verb agreement, non-subject plural nouns following a singular subject sometimes “attract” the agreement with the verb, despite not being grammatically licensed to do so. This phenomenon generates agreement errors in production and an increased tendency to fail to notice such errors in comprehension, thereby providing a window into the representation of grammatical number in working memory during sentence processing. Research in this topic, however, is primarily done in related languages with similar agreement systems. In order to (...) increase the cross-linguistic coverage of the processing of agreement, we conducted a self-paced reading study in Modern Standard Arabic. We report robust agreement attraction errors in relative clauses, a configuration not particularly conducive to the generation of such errors for all possible lexicalizations. In particular, we examined the speed with which readers retrieve a subject controller for both grammatical and ungrammatical agreeing verbs in sentences where verbs are preceded by two NPs, one of which is a local non-subject NP that can act as a distractor for the successful resolution of subject-verb agreement. Our results suggest that the frequency of errors is modulated by the kind of plural formation strategy used on the attractor noun: nouns which form plurals by suffixation condition high rates of attraction, whereas nouns which form their plurals by internal vowel change (ablaut) generate lower rates of errors and reading-time attraction effects of smaller magnitudes. Furthermore, we show some evidence that these agreement attraction effects are mostly contained in the right tail of reaction time distributions. We also present modeling data in the ACT-R framework which supports a view of these ablauting patterns wherein they are differentially specified for number and evaluate the consequences of possible representations for theories of grammar and parsing. (shrink)

This paper discusses a philosophical issue in taxonomy. At least one philosopher has suggested thc taxonomic principle that scientific kinds are disjoint. An opposing position is dcfcndcd here by marshalling examples of nondisjoint categories which belong to different, cocxisting classification schcmcs. This dcnial of thc disjoinmcss principle can bc recast as thc claim that scientific classification is "int<-:rcst—rclativc". But why would anyone have held that scientific categories arc disjoint in the first place'? It is argued that this assumption is nccdcd (...) in one attempt t0 dcrivc csscntialism. This shows why the csscntialist and intc-:rcst—r<-zlativc approaches to classification arc in conflict. (shrink)

Bu çalışma, Türkiye’deki Şer’i yönetişim aktörlerinden olan banka içi danışma komitelerinin Şer’i yönetişimdeki yeri ve önemini keşfetmeyi amaçlamaktadır. Bu minvalde nitel araştırma desenlerinden olan durum çalışması tercih edilmiş ve 5 danışma komitesi üyesi ve 2 danışma komitesi başkanıyla yarı yapılandırılmış mülakatlar gerçekleştirilmiştir. Mülakatlar neticesinde toplam 625 dakikalık ses kayıtları elde edilerek çözümlenmiş ve 85 sayfalık metin elde edilmiştir. Elde edilen metinler ve görüşme notları ATLAS.ti programı aracılığıyla analiz edilerek BİDK, Şer’i yönetişim ve Merkezi Danışma Kurulu olmak üzere 3 ana tema (...) ve bunlara bağlı 26 alt temaya ulaşılmıştır. İlgili temalar BİDK’nin Türkiye’deki Şer’i yönetişimdeki yeri ve önemini keşfetmek açısından zengin bir içerik sunmaktadır. Türkiye’deki Şer’i yönetişimi ele alan çalışmaların literatürde sınırlı olması ve bu çalışmanın hem saha çalışmasına hem de Türkiye’deki Şer’i yönetişimde yer alan, katılım bankacılığının tarihine eş bir ömre sahip BİDK’ları konu etmesi literatürde özgün bir yere sahip olacağına işaret etmektedir. Islamic finance has developed the Shariah governance mechanism to ensure compliance and control of IFIs with the principles of Islamic law. However, the levels of Shariah governance are different from each other due to the different legal affiliations of each country, the level of development of Islamic finance, and regime differences. International Islamic financial institutions such as Islamic Financial Services Board and The Accounting and Auditing Organization for Islamic Financial Institutions have published standards to define the general lines of Shariah governance and have brought Shariah governance practices to a certain point, at least in principle. After the Shariah governance standards of IFSB and AAOIFI, studies on Shariah governance have increased rapidly. By 2010, while there were only 18 publications on Shariah governance in the two most well-known indexes, this number increased to 42 in 2015 and 159 in 2020. This academic interest shows that Shariah governance issues are followed closely. In this context, there have been some remarkable developments at the regulatory and supervisory level in terms of Shariah governance in Turkey, and the TKBB Advisory Board was established in 2018, bringing one step closer to international Shariah governance practices. (shrink)

The current study was a cross-sectional research and aimed to investigate the factor structure, internal consistency, and validities of the Persian version of the Teasing Questionnaire-Revised. Forward and backward translations of the TQ-R were performed; face and content validities were determined based on comments by a sample of psychology students and specialists. Using the cluster sampling method, 290 participants were recruited, and 201 valid data were analyzed. The factor structure was assessed by confirmatory and exploratory factor analysis. The result of (...) the confirmatory factor analysis did not confirm the proposed three, four, and five-factor models. EFA revealed four factors with 23 items, explaining 52.03% of the total variance. The internal consistency of the Persian version of Teasing Questionnaire 23 was in the excellent range, and its expected associations with external correlates supported the measure’s convergent validity. The findings indicated that the Persian version of the TQ-R has sound psychometric properties and can be used as a valid and reliable tool in research and clinical outcomes. (shrink)

Construction cost estimation is one of the essential processes in construction management. Project cost is a complex engineering problem due to various factors affecting the construction industry. Accurate cost estimation is important in construction management and significantly impacts project performance. Artificial intelligence models have been effectively implemented in construction management studies in recent years owing to their capability to deal with complex problems. In this research, extreme gradient boosting is developed as an advanced input selector algorithm and coupled with three (...) AI models, including random forest, artificial neural network, and support vector machine for cost estimation. Datasets were gathered based on a survey conducted on 90 building projects in Iraq. Statistical indicators and graphical methods were used to evaluate the developed models. Several input predictors were used, and XGBoost highlighted inflation as the most crucial parameter. The results indicated that the best prediction was attained by XGBoost-RF using six input parameters, with r-squared and the mean absolute percentage error equal to 0.87 and 0.25, respectively. The comparison results revealed that all AI models showed good prediction performance when applied to datasets affected by more than two parameters. The outcomes of this research revealed an optimistic strategy that can help decision makers select the influencing parameters in the early phases of project management. Also, developing a prediction model with high precision results can assist the project’s estimators in decreasing the errors in the cost estimation process. (shrink)

Background: Today, healthcare organizations are challenged to retain nurses’ generation and to maintain justice that is a predictor of nurses’ behaviors in their work environment. Acquiring knowledge about the level of organizational justice and workplace deviance could help in identifying factors amenable for change that can make a difference in enhancing nurses’ dedication and loyalty to their organizations. Aim: The aim of this study was to investigate nurses’ perception of organisational justice and workplace deviance in their hospital, and to determine (...) the relationship between perceived organisational justice and workplace deviance. Methods: A cross-sectional design was used with a convenient sample of all nurses (N = 400) who were working in inpatient care units at two Egyptian hospitals affiliated to the university and private health sectors in Alexandria governorate, Egypt. Organisational justice and workplace deviance questionnaires proved valid and reliable to measure studied variables. Descriptive analysis, Student’s t-test, Pearson correlation (r), and regression analysis (R2) were used for statistical analysis. Ethical considerations: This study was approved by the Ethics Committee at the Faculty of Nursing, Alexandria University. Informed consent, information confidentiality, and voluntary participation were guaranteed. Results: This study showed that overall nurses’ perceptions of organisational justice and workplace deviance are lower than the average. Organisational justice significantly related negatively to workplace deviance (r = −0.152, p = 0.002) and organisational justice as an independent variable contributed a significant predictive power of workplace deviance (R2 = 0.023). Conclusions: This study highlighted important implications for hospital and nurse managers to create and maintain a healthy and supportive work environment that promotes organisational justice and decreases workplace deviance. To achieve this, a culture of respectful communication, justice in policies, and a proper procedure for allocating resources, workload, and rewards systems is a must. Educational interventions to increase nurses’ awareness of workplace deviance and its potential consequences and coping strategies are imperative for the health of the nursing profession. (shrink)

Don't tell terrible stories—everyone here has enough of their own. Everyone here has a whole bloody sack of terrible stories, and at the bottom of the sack is a hammer the narrator uses to pound you on the skull the instant you dare not believe your ears. Or to pound you when you do believe. Not long ago I saw a tomboyish girl on Khreshchatyk Street demand money of an elderly woman, threatening to bite her and infect her with syphilis. (...) Don't stroll through Volodymyr Hill Park, don't stroll around the botanical garden, and especially don't stroll on Kontraktova Square. Don't stroll anywhere. Don't go to the pavilion with the Golgotha panorama near St. Alexander's Church. Not even the twelve-meter-tall crucified Christ will save you. Don't go outside when it's dark and people turn into shadows a shade darker than dark. Also don't go where you can be seen from far away. Not to imply that people used to be like a bunch of lilies, but now they stink like a cellar of cabbage.The city, which earlier might have had some fun, is now going crazy. It's like a fish in warm water: it doesn't react to anything, swims slowly like it doesn't care if it swallows a hook or not. The excitement and exaltation pass into oppression, just as our necks have sunk into our shoulders, our shoulders into our lumbars, our lumbars into our nether regions. The holiday turns into a funeral, the parades into explosions, depression into mania. Winter passes into summer, people turn into beasts, the hours into ages, and the ages into hours. It's worth simply walking around the city to see a soldier from an unknown army taking a piss near the opera. Farther on is a row of identical old widows selling ball gowns and candelabra. Then there are the aristocrats and manufacturers who throw so much at the prostitutes that they'll soon be richer than their wives.I returned late through the Kyryliv Wood, not heeding all the warnings that I myself have given here. It really is dangerous—the place is famous for it. There's a madhouse nearby, caves where criminals and the sick can hide out. Also, once upon a time, as they say in fairy tales, the great dragon Zmei Gorynich lived here beside the Puchai River. The stench in these places drives away the most committed misanthropes and even one type of philanthrope—that is, perverts. It sounds dumb, but the stench is cleansing. I don't know where it comes from. After the operating theaters and the rooms with amputees, the stench no longer repelled or attracted me; it just was. And this was a great place to think. As I walked, I considered an incident with our patient.The patient, a respectable individual whose name carries too much weight for me to state it directly, one day began to assault people. He nearly strangled a merchant who he believed asked too much for a beaver coat. He likewise wanted to kill his business partner when he didn't say hello loudly enough. But the worst was, he lost all shame of his own nakedness. At first it was the police who took care of it. When our future patient slipped off his pants and undergarments, he was taken to Kyrylivska, which has had means for dealing with such cases dating back to the day when unhinged Cossacks and composers from Kyiv Mohyla Academy were taken there.During the examination we determined that the patient was experiencing a severe breakdown. His wife added that lately, more than once, he had allowed himself strong words in front of the children and often suffered from ennui. Furthermore, she said, the patient had been undergoing treatment for “the French disease” for some years—which was, obviously, where we needed to start.“Syphilis!” Skorsky spat out the matchstick he was chewing on. He was a specialist on the psychological aspects of diseases related to the venereal. “Tertiary syphilis! When poorly treated, over time ‘the French disease’ can destroy the central nervous system. Hence the patient's chicanery. Such theater!”Skorsky and I had not spoken since the incident at Bilinsky's. Meanwhile, something significant had happened to him. The most boring person on earth, Skorsky had simply caught fire. He said hello and kibitzed. I even heard the doctor got drunk alone in his office, then wandered through the forest. Could he be using narcotic substances?“Cocaine!” was the doctor's second proclamation. It was his favorite treatment for the psychological complications of syphilis. Skorsky himself never took what he called “the universal drug”—good for alcoholism and toothaches, neuroses and morphine dependency—though he had read in an article by a respectable Viennese physician, who used cocaine as a panacea, that it was not addictive. That doctor subsequently recanted, but Skorsky paid no attention. He believed the retraction was made under pressure from pharmacologists who had no incentive to cease production of the medications that cocaine might supplant. Their representatives either paid or threatened the Viennese to repent.As the patient was escorted to his room, he assaulted the orderly, Alevtyna. They tried pulling him off her, but, though he released his fingers from her neck, he buried his teeth in her leg. The poor orderly, who had not until then been attacked by a psychotic, nearly died of fear. Later, panic set in over Skorsky's diagnosis. He told her about the consequences of syphilis: grotesque patterns on one's face due to infection of the skin, mucous membranes, cartilage, and bones. He went on about the devastation to the central nervous system, which they had just observed in real life: “The face starts to look like lace some mangy dogs fought over before rolling in the mud.”Alevtyna, who had not yet regained her faculty of speech, straightened up. Ignoring the slavering male orderlies, she bared her leg to get a better look at the wound. She then ran down the hall and out into the garden, where she fell on the ground to rip up grass and small bunches of daisies. Alevtyna ate them along with the soil in their roots.“Minor hysteria. She needs fifteen milligrams of cocaine.”Skorsky took a snuff box out of his pocket and scooped up some white powder with a toothpick made from a goose feather. He gave the order to close Alevtyna's mouth and one of her nostrils, forcing her to snort the medication.We fretted over her so long that evening fell. I decided to walk down, along the ravine, behind the church.It was unlikely there were any large beasts there, but something was rustling. The pits and mounds, ravines, paths, graves of witches whose living sisters flew in the treetops from time to time, the whispers of the forest spirits, the spirits of the nutcases who died in the hospital, the spirits of the monks from the St. Cyril Monastery, Zmei Gorynich and the bogatyrs who wanted to defeat him. The city would be calmer without this forest. I saw the gaps between the trees and went off in the direction of the tram tracks.As I was coming out of the forest, there was a patch of Amanita muscaria that had been trampled into porridge. A bit farther on, the body of Professor Bilinsky lay killed in the blackberry bushes. The way he was lying it looked as though he had not struggled before death. I quickly examined his body but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There were no wounds, no dirt under the fingernails. Animals had not yet smelled the carrion, but swarms of various insects covered him. Oh, why did I have to find the putrid body?The best thing would be to take the tram to his house to inform his relatives. The doors closed, and I noticed my own calm. This death had not evoked any emotions in me other than a feeling of responsibility, the need to tell the family. But also—some alarm at the thought of who the murderer could be. I knew that it was murder.“Your nose is bleeding.” A woman as round as an onion, carrying two baskets full of strawberries, offered me an ironed and starched handkerchief.“Have I dirtied my shirt?”“No, it's as neat as a pin. It's just your nose that's dirty. Wipe it now before you spray blood on my strawberries.”“No one will see the red on red.”“Ah, but it's salty!”“You know why it's not sweet? We'd drink it like syrup.”“Those with Christ in their heart do not talk that way.”“Are your strawberries expensive?”“Why? What?”“I'm checking to see if you have God in your heart.”“Child, if you knew how I have to work for this berry! I have to weed it a hundred times. In a week, the quitch grass grows as high as a horse. And I water it with water I carry from the stream, it kills my arms... ”“How much are the berries?”“They're not for sale. Anyway, soon money won't mean a thing. Soon all money, all these papers made from the skins of sinners on their satanic presses will be annulled. What matters is how we treat each other.”“So if I try your strawberries for free, my ‘thank you’ will be enough?”“Hands off!” she said and thwacked my fingers.I heard loud laughter behind me—same laughter as from the café near the Continental. There was no one sitting near Alina. (This is what fate looks like, remember.) Without asking, I sat next to her, away from the old lady.“Excuse me, but the night before last didn't you, yes, didn't you intrude on my privacy?” She started right away.“I saw it a little differently. Who was that young man with the mustache who paid me for you?”“Are you checking to see if you can flirt?”The tram stopped. People got on and off.“Are you coming back from the hospital?” she asked. “Don't be shocked. My uncle works there. He's told me all about you.”“An uncle by the name of Skorsky?”(Remember: this is what fate looks like.)“Yes. Skorsky's been strange recently—says things that make me wonder if he hasn't lost his mind. Have you noticed anything?”“I don't know.”“You know perfectly well.”“Where are you going?” I tried to change the subject.“I have to send something to my theater friends in Odesa. By the way, they'll be putting on Oedipus Rex soon in Kyiv—in Ukrainian.”“Greek tragedy in Ukrainian! That's a first.”“Exactly. The troupe is rehearsing now in Odesa. The theater where they will perform this fall is being remodeled.”“Wait. Now I remember where I've seen you before—it was at a performance! Vynnychenko's Black Panther and White Bear, at the Bergonier on Fundukleivska.“The same director is doing the Oedipus. He's my friend.”“He's your friend in what sense?”“Again with that tired subject. By the way, I've been thinking about you.”“And I about you.”“That's good. I was thinking not about you, to be precise, but about that elevator you invited me on.”“Who was that man with you?”“Like a broken record! Even if he had been my fiancé, I'm not bought or inherited. I'm not a brooch or a hundred acres of land, and I'm not a house in Kaniv!... Who was with you when you saw Black Panther?“Ah, so.”“Answer!”“That was my mother. She looks very young. She is coming to Kyiv the day after tomorrow. I can introduce you.”“Oh, this is my stop.”I looked out the window and realized that I had long since passed the stop for Bilinsky's.“Can we see each other again?”“We can. But you have only one chance.”Alina the anarchist wrote something on a scrap of paper and handed it to me.Morning, not morning but a thick porridge (I hate porridge). Dew, thick spit, crushed fruits, urine, all on the sparkling cobblestones. The sun, just barely having made its appearance, is already scorching. The human masses scurry and grumble like poorly digested food inside a stomach.I walked diagonally across St. Sofia's Square, then along the perimeter, then one edge, then again diagonally across. I went underground. The basement café of the Continental Hotel was practically empty. I again asked the server to bring the cloth with the embroidered portrait, but I couldn't remember the musician's last name, only that it ended with -sky. The server said that -sky was currently in the southern cities of Yalta and Odesa. I added that Kurbas, the director, Alina's friend, was also in Odesa, rehearsing Oedipus Rex, and that he'd previously put on Black Panther.I was bored, so I walked along Khreshchatyk and then headed down, calling to mind all the Kyiv churches of Podil: there's Birth of Christ, St. Nicholas on the Shore, Intercession, Pyrohoshcha, Holy Presentation, St. Dymytrii Rostovsky, St. Illia's. And also the Epiphany Brotherhood Monastery, Ascension Convent, and St. Katherine's, all these whipped-cream churches on the waffles of our streets. A few of them reminded me of themselves by appearing suddenly out of nowhere.The smells on Kontraktova Plaza where commerce buzzed were like multicolored light bulbs turning on one after another. Here you could catch the aroma of Balabukha jam, which blended with the next smell, English shoe polish at the Raiskys’ shop. Then the crunchy-smelling cabbage from old women standing in a row like herons and spitting out the shells of sunflower seeds. Farther on, the stench of a good-sized rat that crawled under Mrs. Shevchuk's shop where she sells broadcloth. Oh, she can't scream: no, she'll quietly dig that rat out herself so as to not scare off her clients.I bought a paper and two pairs of underwear. I asked two laughing young chambermaids who were secretly puffing in a grape-filled yard for a smoke. I wandered around Podil until evening when I came across a sawmill near the Dnipro that surprisingly smelled pleasantly of mazut fuel oil. The weather was dry, yet in the middle of the road was an enormous puddle, a deep dark black. A forty-year-old woman in a pale pink dress stood near it. The theatricality of it all provoked me to pose her a question,“Ma'am, what should I do?”But she paid me no attention. I shouted,“What should I do?”“What to do, what to do?” she said in Polish. “Jump in the water and swim so far away that you cannot return.”I quickly crossed a section of the forest. The wind brought a mixture of unpleasant air, like a stinky handkerchief held under one's nose. Passing the trees, I saw light in the spaces between them and exited at the hospital.Outside the windows, two orderlies lay in chairs with their heads thrown back. Two others—fools—ran around the yard in different directions, peering out at... something. The lights on the first floor of the hospital were on, and the staff milled about.“You're just in time!” said Ivan, a tall, young orderly.“For what?”“Your patient ran away! We went into his room and he wasn't there.”“What patient?”“The one who bit Alevtyna,” said Danylo, the other orderly, short and middle-aged.“That's Skorsky's patient, not mine.”I had no intention of helping them. This was all history—like my family, Kyiv, and my previous life. I had no intention of thinking about it. I wanted to go to my office, pack up my field surgery kit, and get out. So what? Their psychotic syphilitic ran away—it happened.Of course, that patient could have something to do with Bilinsky's murder. But that was no longer my problem.“What a strange coincidence!” the doctor on duty said. “Comrade doctor, the other one responsible for this patient was just here.”“And where is he now?”“He took off toward the church to look for the patient.”“Didn't the patient escape earlier?”“Don't know.”“How do you not know? You had better call the police, moron, before he kills someone. And get those sleeping orderlies to look for him.”“They can't... ”“Why not? Should I go wake them?”“They're on morphine.”“And you, I can see, have lost your mind. Go, catch your psycho! If it turns out that he killed Bilinsky—and on your watch—you can't imagine what's in store for you.”I adjusted my homburg and set off in the direction of St. Cyril's, that unwelcoming monolithic cube. I glanced around—what if our escaped syphilitic were to jump out of the bushes and bite or strangle me. I looked around because I wasn't sure of my actions, wasn't sure of my choices. Tripping over a clump of clover, I reached the open doors of the church. I couldn't stop myself from going in.The walls and ceiling were covered with frescoes. There was what used to be an angel rolling up the sky on the southern column of the narthex. But also graffiti: people scratched their names on it so as not to be forgotten—their idea of eternity. Prince Volodymyr the Great compared this activity to the desecration of graves. The vandals paid a fine and were beaten with canes. During the raids of Batu Khan, the church was deserted and cracks appeared all over it. Wild martens and feral dogs sought shelter here; insects swarmed under the ceiling with its red mosaics. Birches grew in its midst. Water seeped in the cracks, the water became ice, the ice widened the cracks, more water seeped in the cracks, becoming more ice that further widened the cracks, the wall split and nearly fell over, and then the wall fell over. Yet the angel is still rolling up the sky... When I reached the exit, I heard a rustling behind me. I turned after I stepped outside: in the depths of the church, like a stick in a pot of tar, stood a man with a large bag thrown over his shoulder and a revolver pointed right at me.“Is that you, Doctor?“Don't move!”“What's... Skorsky, what's with you?”“Don't move, I say!”“What are you doing here?”And finally I understood... Skorsky was himself the psycho! (Really, I had known for a while.)“You are the murderer! I knew it! But—why?”“Shut up.”“It was you. You! The stolen cigarettes, the strange behavior, Bilinsky. If I shout, everybody will come running. They've already called the police!”There was heavy breathing behind me. And then a gun rang out.The city is overgrown with new buildings. They encircle everything that was once on the periphery. Kyiv has become an old lady that can no longer restrain herself in the face of pastries. The city climbs farther. It steps over the swamps, turns the old rivers into a series of lakes; the other bodies of water it drives into canals. The grain that falls from the wild wheat is black. When the sun heats it, the grain melts and trickles into the earth. St. Cyril's stands indestructible. No one spackles the small cracks in its walls with either expensive putty or glues, nor with cheap cement and whitewash. One day a small fox appears in the doorway. It runs inside and along the floor of simple gray tiles. The gods watch from the walls, watch and fall into ruin. The fox runs to the iconostasis. Before it is a time-darkened Virgin Mother and Child in oil on sheets of zinc. The fox runs the metal steps that wind up to the second floor. The fox runs past all the vaults, naves, all the frescoes. A buckthorn seed flies in through a broken window. It will be the first. Soon the buckthorn will grow everywhere. A dumb hare will make its nest in the buckthorn bushes and nightingales will settle in the upper branches to sing until the end of the world. The fox runs between the thick rays that penetrate the windows. It catches one of the rays, squints its eyes, and warms itself in the sun.The shot rang out, but I did not fall. I looked around—and on the church threshold was our syphilis patient bearing a rod. His head lay on the rocks by the doorway.“If only he'd been at the stage of nose deformity! Just imagine: a hole instead of a nose plus a hole from the bullet—like an extra pair of eyes!” Skorsky laughed at the corpse.“We need to call the orderlies.”“They heard the shot. They'll run here on their own. You see, Professor Bilinsky believed it would take two or three years to wrap up this patient's case,” Skorsky told me. “But I took care of it much faster!”“Excuse me, but I'm going crazy in this city. I thought that you were Bilinsky's murderer.”“Just so. Why not? I am Bilinsky's murderer.”“Don't tease. You've changed a lot recently, so... ”“Yes, I've started killing people. You might term such a change significant.”“You have the right to irony.”“I am not being ironic.”“Let's call it sarcasm.”“It's the honest-to-God truth.”“And yes, you have the right to mock me.”“Well then, let's be done. To the horses!”“What horses?”“Alina's waiting!”Alina, her uncle Skorsky, a few others I didn't know, and I rode like the wind that ripped off my homburg and carried it back to Kyiv.“There's a fresco in the choir loft at St. Cyril's where Vrubel painted himself and patients from the hospital as the apostles. When I came across it by accident, I really believed they were saints,” Alina said.“I've never been up there. I've only seen the church from below.”“Remember the way back so you can see it sometime.”“The Puchai River used to flow here. You shouldn't trust the landscape,” Skorsky said, reaching for something, perhaps his bag, just when we left the darkness of the trees and saw the endless steppe ahead of us.We rode all night without stopping. Though no one was chasing us. Though we had nowhere to be. We rode like beasts released from a cage. The promises of the horizon turned what we'd left behind into a cage fit for those from whom freedom had been severed, like an anomaly, at birth.The pre-morning sky looked at first like a sack of turnips—filled with something heavy. But with each verst, the sky became lighter. When it was finally light enough to see clearly, we arrived at a knoll at the foot of a stone wall that from a distance had appeared to be a gigantic piece of halva. The exterior ruins of the castle gave no hint of how it was when all was fine here, when people defended themselves successfully from the nomads’ raids. From far off, the wreckage looked like a natural agglomeration of stones—a rocky elevation, no more: a cluster of cliffs. It would rain a few hundred more times, a few hundred more winds from a few hundred directions would blow on this heap, and it would collapse as though nothing had ever been here.A few stalks of wheat grew from one of the rocks. Someone had probably cast a handful of grain here for some birds that forgot to eat it.“Who could this castle belong to?” I asked Skorsky.“I reckon the Swan Princess,” the doctor rejoined, hoping to sound knowledgeable.From behind one of the piles of gray sandstone emerged a young man in a black reptilian coat and a white papakha as lush, bright, and out of place as a dahlia. His name was Artem. The heat was melting our brains, but he was dressed like that, in rooster fashion, which was popular among the otamans. Artem helped Alina dismount her horse and tried to kiss her on the lips, but she offered him a cheek instead.Had she been racing to see this clown?We entered the yard—the ruins had fashioned an internal space that was more or less protected, at least from strangers’ eyes. It turned out that there were even places where it was possible to hide from the rain, and from there the ruins didn't look half bad.In the center of the court was a table, and on it a wooden bucket with pink gladiolas. How romantic! It all looked like it came from outer space. Where on earth, in the middle of the steppe, far from any village or town, did this table, this simple table, come from? And the gladiolas? The steppe hadn't been plowed in so long that any cultivars would have gone wild, degenerated, dried up completely.A campfire crackled nearby—a little preview of what we would soon do to the houses, villages, and cities. Artem the otaman brought over a cezve from the fire and poured the first portion into a small, copper cup for Alina. He also got out a porcelain cup with images of rosy cherubim—but how...?“Who else would like coffee?”Only Skorsky and I responded. The question excited me, even distracted me from the thought of the kiss I had recently witnessed and the Kyiv I had recently left.“It's obvious who the professors here are; cultured people drink coffee. Are you both doctors?”“Uh-huh.”“For wolves of the steppe, like us, doctors are gold, even more precious than gold. Actually, a Hippocrates like you should eat more, because those in your profession will soon be worth your weight in gold. Work on your figures, both of you.”“Who will take pity on the horses that have to carry us?”“We'll find the horses. And very large doctors can be transported on machine-gun carts. We'll need to seat the otamans near you. Only a fool would shoot at a doctor.”“I think we'll find quite enough fools here.”“With your beard, Doctor, you look like Tsar Nicholas II. But even so you won't be shot. You might even be canonized!”“We've only just arrived and you're going on about executions,” Skorsky grumbled and checked to make sure that he still had his bag.“Apologies, apologies, pardonnez-moi. But you are not merely a doctor. A venereologist! Skorsky, you're a specialist! A venereologist is the most important person in wartime. The most valuable! You are the botanists of war. You can't imagine what varieties of flowers grow here, and these beds have long awaited a proper gardener. Or even just a man with a scythe!”“Bite your tongue,” Alina said. “I don't need to listen to this.”“Yes, yes, of course. Excuse me, my r—. ” He almost said “rose.”We rested all day. We went down to a surprisingly close river overgrown with lilies. We rowed the boats left by fishermen. I talked to Skorsky. He took his bag everywhere, refusing even to swim so he wouldn't have to part with it. I asked him what he had in it, but he said it wasn't my damned business.Alina rowed with the otaman to the middle of the river. They were having a loud discussion. She was waving her hands. The current carried their boat downstream slowly and smoothly. What a nuisance, that current!I tried to meet with Alina one-on-one, but she was avoiding me. In the morning I was confused, by lunch I was sad, and after lunch I got angry.In the evening, I lay on the hot grass and drank another cup (I have no idea where they got such good coffee), which had no effect at all on my sleep. I watched the Perseids. Every year, the Earth passes through the tail of Comet Swift-Tuttle. People can see the meteor shower and make a wish. I wished. I counted forty-seven falling stars. All forty-seven of my wishes were for the same thing.Around the campfire, they were sitting, talking. I saw how he tickled her face with a piece of grass and she brushed him off in annoyance. Then they were screaming at each other. Later they again spoke kindly, after which they again quarreled. My joy grew after each tiny mistake that Artem made. I wanted him to show the worst he was capable of.They were screaming at each other, but all I could hear was beautiful opera singing. The stars fell to the sound of their screaming. The stars blessed my joy.Then this happened: Alina kicked the fire, scattered burnt kindling, and burned some of the grass. Artem grabbed her by the arm, but she broke away from him and ran off to the horses.“Go then! I guarantee you'll get to Katerynoslav and return with your tail between your legs.”“I'm going to Huliai-Pole! To Father Makhno!”I jumped up and ran after her.“Where do you think you're going?” Artem shouted.Really—where was I going? I was going after her: to Huliai-Pole, to Katerynoslav, to Rome, to Washington, to Istanbul, to Montevideo... “Go to sleep,” he said. “Come morning, this coquette will be here, right as rain. We've already been through this show. Tomorrow she'll be right here next to my boot!”... No, she won't.In some sort of shape we entered some town. There were some buildings that were some colors, some trees, some streets, some roads, and some signs. Posts, flustered birds’ nests, echoes, colors, shapes—each of some kind. A wedding procession was coming toward us. If you want to make orange, you need to add yellow to red, and then bam—it's black. If you want to salt the soup, shake in a little, and then bam—two handfuls. You want to say a kind word, and then bam—a punch in the face. I was rocked around like a watermelon on a boat and threw up my breakfast straight into the horse's fluffy mane. Sanko found this hilarious, but I said I'd pulverize him. So Sanko sped ahead.No one knew anything about Alina. The daytime sky was like a poorly washed bowl. The sun was a squashed, rotten apricot. The night sky looked like the sole of a boot to me. The moon was a dirty cheap copper coin that had gotten stuck to the sole. Everything seemed spoiled to me, irrelevant, unnecessary. Without her, this journey was a waste of time.“You'd better stay away from everyone,” Artem said. “You'll infect us with your pining, and pining is worse than the clap.”The wedding procession was before us. The young couple, still utter children, walked so calmly it was as if they didn't see us. As if we were made of a light breeze—our bodies, clothes, our horses and their iron shoes—of the lightest gasses. As if we were visible only to ourselves and the coal-black dog that barked, panting and gasping.The wedding was headed straight for us. We were in the middle of the road, and so were they. We approached each other slowly, a wave going toward a wave. Some ten meters before their indifferent faces, I noticed the color of the bride's eyes. And the coral-colored tulips that fell on the road before her. Round goose eggs on meaty stems, the flowers were falling and falling before her. The bride's eyes were almond shaped.“Hey there,” Artem shouted at me. “Wake up!”I came to and saw the whole village, everyone there, not realizing my group had turned left onto a side street away from the procession. The tulips disappeared—where'd they get tulips in the fall? I was sitting alone on my horse in the middle of the road, and the entire wedding procession came to a stop. I moved to the side, and the throng marched on, cutting off our escape route. We rode a few more meters and came across the synagogue.“You know what, you're right,” said the otaman.“Who is?”“Oleksii is the only one here who's right.”“About what?”Artem turned his horse and raced back. Everyone stood still while he ran his horse into the crowd and began firing his revolver. People scattered in all directions. Artem trotted, cackling like an imbecile. The horse kicked an old guy in the mouth. The man fell, spitting out his gold teeth. We rode up to the commotion and formed ranks, but none of us wanted to join the otaman.The bride stopped in the middle of the street. On both sides were buildings and trees, as well as dust, sky, and sun. She stood still, beautiful, as if nothing had happened. Then she adjusted her garland and walked calmly on.“Well, should we get some sugar now?” Artem laughed, looking at the bride, and off he went toward the sugar factory.It was then I noticed that all of the houses had shutters—fuchsia, blue, ocher—and that all the shutters were closed.We flew toward the dirty building, whistling and shouting. If there had been aesthetes among the otamans, they would certainly have razed the abomination in this field after seizing it. They would have spread soil on top and sown buckwheat. Long live buckwheat!, that wonderful crop. Like hunting dogs hot on the trail, we raced to our defenseless victim, with the baying of hundreds of hounds behind us. The field shook beneath us. We became an artist's canvas, evolving from Realism to Romanticism, Romanticism to Expressionism, Expressionism to Suprematism. If we had been painted in black and white, we would have been splotches (until the ink ran, annihilating all remaining patches of white).Two men stood near the gate—unarmed and undressed, in nothing but their undershirts and boots. Our fervor, our kinship with the elements, our entirety, were all for naught.“Jesus Christ! What bores!” Artem exclaimed. “How boring you are!”“Maybe boring for us, but fireworks for them,” Sanko said, dismounting his horse.“The fear of death engenders creativity,” our otaman—a distinguished philosopher of the early twentieth century, that demonic breed—prophesied.He went on, “Excuse me, but with all due respect, we are not going to search you. Just show us right away where the money is. Why are there so few of you? Don't say there's not much money. I want piles and piles of money! If you don't show it to us, we'll print our own on your skin. Believe me, we will.”We entered the factory grounds. There were no workers, only an enormous mountain of sugar beets that looked like a pile of coal from a distance and a pile of dead rats from up close.“So, did you have a good year?” Artem asked a man in an undershirt.“Not really—too dry.”“Nah, that's fine. You wouldn't have been able to gather most of the harvest this year anyway. There's a fire burning across all of Ukraine, all of Russia. The whole world!”While Artem tossed thoughts like well-chewed sunflower seeds into the crowd, the two men quietly stepped aside and then ran fast ahead to the factory's main hall. The gigantic door slammed shut. The gate was locked behind us! The windows were smashed! The factory roared from inside like a cumbersome machine starting up. Bullets whirred through every window.“Bastards! It's a trap! Quick, after me!”Still on horseback, Artem bounded over to a vast window, low to the ground, and smashed it mercilessly. He broke the frame and jumped inside on his horse. I and a few others followed. We broke into their lair, threw open the doors, and let the other warriors inside.Iron vats of hot sugar were steaming, pipes were clattering; machinery groaned.“Parasites!” Artem gritted his teeth. “I'll get you. I'll get you red sons of bitches. Painted whores!”At the word “painted,” his horse fell to the ground. Lying prone, Artem continued fighting, but the red soldiers wouldn't let him stand. Fighting nearby, I rode over to assist but did not know where to aim. Artem got up, ran forward, and brought his sword down on the head of the closest soldier, all the way to the middle of his skull, to the bridge of his nose. It was like butchering a pig. Artem thrust the sword into the buttock of another who was fleeing and cut off his leg at the bend in the knee.“I'll cut off every last one of your asses! Cut off your asses!” Artem bellowed.A half hour later, the dead were lying, the captured sitting, and the victors doing anything they pleased.“Skorsky, are there a lot of casualties?” I asked the doctor, whose hour it was. I hoped not, because I was too tired to help him.“Just a few. The dead are already dead, and the wounded are not ours.”Though Skorsky rarely asked my help, and though I'd become an ordinary soldier, the doctor in me was still present in the most unpleasant attribute—knowledge. Others saw an eviscerated man, pieces of dusty flesh smeared with clay, soil, sand, and straw. I saw a perfectly formed kidney hanging perfectly from the rest of its body like a child's mitten from its coat. You could try this death on for size. Wear it like a sanbenito of the Inquisition.Artem counted the money and then lay on the floor alongside the gigantic sugar mountain in the middle of the room. From time to time, the crystals rustled as they fell.“I didn't think you'd be such a fighter!” the otaman said without turning toward me. “I thought you'd be healing us. You'd keep to the rear and we'd hide you like a girl. But here you are, in the vanguard, like a lion!”“I got excited,” I told him, choosing not to react to the “girl” part.“’Cause Alina said there was no sense counting on you to fight.”“Really?”“Does that sting?”“Why would it? I'm a doctor—not everyone is. It requires a brain. Unlike waving a sword.”“Yeah, yeah. I gave her gladiolas. We were lying in the boat near that castle, doing all manner of things, and she told me all about you. How you met.”“You were lying in that boat talking about me?”“It was the day before you left Kyiv. You agreed to go with the anarchists so quickly!”“Were you surprised? Doctors make fast decisions.”“But you probably had great prospects. Your parents are rich, right?”“And who are your parents?”“Probably all your relatives fled abroad—bourgeois. Why did you stay?”“What the hell's your point?”“Alina, by the way, died a while ago. Probably.”“Don't jinx her.”“Listen here,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “And listen good. If you have designs on her—dead or alive—it's best you castrate yourself now.”“After you.”“If I want to kill somebody, you know, I just do it.”At last he looked at me. I was lying on the floor nearby and looking in his direction, sweaty and relaxed, my appearance complemented by my disdain for his opinion, his authority, his stupid hat. His everything.Artem raised his arm above his head, stuck a finger in the sugar mountain, and licked it. We both got up. Had I anticipated this turn of events, I would have readied a gift for him. Artem held his revolver. Under my hand I found a knife the workers used for gathering beets: it was a deliberately sharpened arc they sank into the swollen brassicas. I jumped up and quickly stepped around the sugar mountain.Artem's bullet hit a pane and broke the glass.“Not man enough for hand-to-hand?”The otaman shot again.“You should've challenged me to a duel, you romantic!”Encrusted with white crystals, I charged Artem from the sugar mountain. We fell in, and the sugar stuck in our hair, mustaches, nostrils, armpits.The gang ran in to get us apart, then backed off because it had nothing to do with them. By now the sugar mountain had burst its banks. Of the once perfect pyramid, a deformed mound remained.Wounded, Artem fell on the sugar mound, turning the white red.I stood before the gang sugar-coated and holding a bloody hook. The old otaman was drawing his last breath. Blood trickled from the corner of Artem's mouth and streamed from the left side of his breast.“What's the commotion?” Old Roman had just come in.“Be quiet,” the boys told him. And a good thing they did.“You killed him? You killed the otaman!”“Shut your mouth,” the boys told him.“You... ”I slugged Roman's stinky herring mouth. How did that son of a bitch find pickled herring in a sugar factory? My fist was now bigger and stronger than ever before, a steel anvil that could split nails and shatter memorial plaques. The unfortunate man's jaw twisted like an upper millstone that had gone off track from the lower.“Let's get out of here and go to Makhno's camp,” I gave my first order.We galloped so fast the grass burned beneath us. The birds and bugs had no time to fly out of the way; hooves trampled the burrows of rodents who didn't dare crawl out of their holes for a long time after. We raced like no one had ever raced before.The steppe, that sly fox, pretended to be an innocent fool. The steppe said, “I'm like Adam: I don't even know my own name.” But its grass harbored the tracks of thousands of armies and the heels of Herodotus, the crunch of Trypillia vessels, and the smell of Scythian hemp, Roman coins, clay figures of wolf people, the chevrons of Denikin's army, glass from the Chekists’ ruby stars, traces of uranium from flying saucers. I threatened it: “Steppe, show me your layers, or I will burn you, plow you under, flood you.” But it just replied: “I'm like Adam: I don't yet know my name.”I lost geography as if it were a silver coin. It fell out of my pocket and rolled through the feather grass that blanketed the steppe in white foam. The open space ahead was so endless that the whole world might as well have been steppe. If people ended up here from somewhere else, they would conclude they were on another planet. The coin fell and became an argentum, became one with the ring on the hand of the princess who had one green eye and one blue, with the twisted candlestick at the monastery on the other side of the steppe, with melted ingots. It broke down into simpler elements, simpler and simpler yet. The horse carried me spreading the seeds of northern plants to the south, just as southern riders had once brought flowers and weeds to the north. And then I turned back. Just as I had no geography, I had no time. Every night I fell asleep with the thought that the next day I would again race. Through all spacelessness, all timelessness. I exchanged one horse for another, got on a train, on a boat, traversed forty versts on foot—in rain that brought the river up to the road, in heat that overturned cattle. The earth I walked on became mine. Mine was the water in the lakes and springs, clean water, dirty water, enlightened water, contaminated with oil, stinking of algae, of fish that died in wells, stinking of the memory of atrocities, water as clean as broken bread. The water did not become Alina.I was doing this for her: I got the basturma out from under my saddle, sodden with the horse's sweat, sliced the throat of a rich man whose daughter I had danced with at a ball, climbed into a vat of beet juice and took a sugar bath, carried out the expropriation of the savings banks, wiped the sweat from my face with my shirt—and the cloth turned red; I didn't know from what. If it was someone else's blood, I didn't care; if it was my own, even less.We mostly came across Reds. We scraped them up like old red paint on a door in order to repaint the boards black. Black looked better. Red is tasteless, but black has style. Healthy men died before us of myocardial rupture like bunnies found in the nest. The ones whose hearts were sewn of steel wire envied the deceased. Seizing estates, banks, distilleries, and prisons reminded us of gathering in the harvest. If you're too lazy to pick an apple, you can shake the tree; some of the fruit gets bruised when it falls. We seized buildings like we were shaking apple trees. No one picked the fruits, we just shook: shook under the beds, under the tables, behind the curtains. No, there was no picking. We just shook until the red juice spurted from the apples.Near the Khorol River with Father Makhno and me in charge, we captured sixteen machine guns and four cannons, as well as five hundred prisoners who immediately came over to our side. The villagers voluntarily gave us bread and cheese, chickens and kvas. People joined us. The front of the machine-gun cart said “You can't run,” and “You won't catch us” at the back. We took factory after factory. Millions of karbovantsi, thousands of poods of sugar, weapons. We smashed the telephone exchanges and captured the telegraphs. We made alliances with some and then with others. Lenin, Wrangel, Frunze, the Germans, Chinese, Australians, Kaiser Wilhelm II, Cleopatra, Maria Theresa Walburga Amalia Christina. We ran the steppe. There were a hundred thousand of us. There were three hundred thousand of them. There were three hundred thousand of us. There were a million of them. There were two million of them. We were all of humanity. We were so many that we were none.The nobles’ estates were long ago forsaken. In the people's deepest trunks lay silks and guipure laces that were once perhaps used only to cover a table. Five steps from the barn in the direction of the pear tree, some silver candlesticks are buried; there's a plaster figure of an angel in the chicken coop, covered with shit and feathers.I was reluctant to be going to my home, but I didn't see any way out. Fate intended me to be a different being from the one I was before.Here my grandfathers and great-grandfathers were born. Here the ones who caused my grandfathers and great-grandfathers to flee had stopped. When we were still far off I noticed that someone was in the house. It was our men—Skorsky had brought them here, about twenty in all. I asked Sanko, whom I had walked with side by side more than once, where the doctor was now. All the men answered that he was around somewhere, but I didn't see him that evening.In 1918, the spirit of my great-grandfather Stepan, along with my mother and uncle, had gotten into a britzka and scrambled off to Paris, to Napoleon, against whom my great-grandfather had fought with the Cossacks, to whom the Russians promised to return self-rule. Following him in the cart went the soul of Grandpa Oleh, who lost a finger when he cut down the old linden near the house; his second finger was blown off by a cannonball near Balaklava, and later his entire hand was cut off by some Turk. Next went the spirit of my father, also Stepan, who did not take part in any war but died of measles at the age of forty. They all got the hell out of here. First, they went to Kyiv, led by my mother, Tamara Makarivna, in order to collect Uncle's family and me, their son. And their son, it turns out, has now come back to rob his own home (I didn't drive my war buddies away, did I?). It's a shame that I didn't know where the bathtub was, or whatever they bathed me in when I was small. It would have been good to walk through the ranks of anarchists with that basin and tell them all to spit into it.Remembering every room, I carried Alina upstairs to my mother's bedchamber. There was no longer furniture or pictures, only bare walls. The bed and mattress remained, but that was enough. Mother hated noise, so she set up her room far away from the running in the halls and the creaks on the stairs. I adjusted the mattress; in a gap, looking like a stalk of wheat, there lay a gold bracelet that she lost in the haste and that the thieves could not find in the mayhem. I tucked it into my pocket.The place could still be saved. It was strong, built under the leadership of my grandfather, who knew how to do it right. He built a sawmill, a gristmill, a dress factory (today it's probably been ransacked, maybe even by our own men).Alina had a complete, displaced break in her right fibula. We needed water first. I went downstairs—the guys were dragging out the piano like an old cow to the slaughter.“What are you doing with that?”“Taking it out.”“Why?”“What's it to you? We want to have fun.”“Can you play?”“We're not your bourgeois lily-handed bitches.”They couldn't play, but they were famous at destruction. “Noise is the music of the new time,” one of the smarter among them might have said. “But noise is the opposite of music. Just as a rose is the opposite of your ugly mugs,” I'd have responded if there was anyone to say it to. I could also have said that this was a Bosendorfer grand piano, that it was very valuable—but do the guys not deserve such a luxury?“Why are you so boring? We're relaxing.”“Then let me play a little first.”“Go ahead, but fast. One-two.”So I played. As before. My fingers ran up and down the black and white keys, which weren't simply keys of these, the simplest, colors. These were the keys that remembered my fingers specifically—achieved by that slovenly German Katerina, our governess. She knew a bundle of languages, could play the piano, and was interested in the latest scientific discoveries. But she had not an ounce of sympathy for anyone who couldn't master anything on the first try. More than once she hit my pinkie against the black key that remembered every one of its four thousand touches. She would pound it on the key and shout, “Si bémol! Si bémol,” and later bang my fingers and translate, “B flach! B flach!”I played. I could not expose myself, so the only thing I could do was believe in miracles. What if these coarse men saw value in this bit of furniture so unintelligible to them? And what if they didn't destroy it, this emblem of my childhood, my land, my air, which I could protect in no other way? My air. My water.“Shchedryk, shchedryk, shchedrivochka,” one of them who recognized the tune began to sing along.“Look at you.” They did not expect music from me, who had until recently been drinking blood like water.They said, “Again, again!”A group of curious men gathered around me. They were ordinary farmers, thieves, and recidivists, peasants and workers, everyone except for Skorsky. They needed this music as they needed baths. The music cleansed them from the inside, perhaps. They had not heard anything besides the whistle of a bullet, the neighing of a horse, or the knocking of a chisel and the whirring of a saw, amputating limbs, for a long time.But it could not go on long. I did not close the piano lid, just stood and went to fetch water for Alina, leaving the unfinished song for later. The well was to the north—that is, at the “Head.” My father once promised to give me a compass if I could learn to identify the ends of the earth by means of the sun. And to make it easier to remember, I gave each one of them a name: the east where the day begins was “Right” (my right hand), the west “Left,” the north “Head,” and the south “Feet.” Back when I could still do whatever I wanted all day long, I would wake in the morning and say: I'm going to the Feet. The mound was at the Feet, Left had the river, Right had the forest. It was only to the Head that I rarely went, because a village was located there. When the villagers saw me, they would speak in whispers and avoid the master's son.... I wiped her brow and her burning, sunken cheeks. I lay down next to her to feel the heat of her skin.When the fire in Alina calmed slightly, I went out into our orchard. My father had once been given a gift from Japan—a tulip tree that blossomed with yellow-green flowers. It had to have grown in the time that I was away. It would have been fatal had it been cut down. I again took the stairs down into the drawing room and came across nobody—they had all disappeared in search of food or were hidden away in their burrows. In the middle of the hall, like an opened rib cage, was the piano, irreparably shattered.B Flach! B Flach!Translation © Ali Kinsella 2022. (shrink)

Religious education and religious services practices that emerged as spiritual/religious support and guidance in the context of social work in Turkey are carried out with the protocols between Presidency of Religious Affairs ( DIB) and Ministry of Health, Justice, Ministry Family and Social Services, Youth and Sports, Disaster and Emergency Management Presidency. This research is on the self-efficacy perceptions of religious officials assigned in various social work areas of the Ministry of Family and Social Services. Researching the self-efficacy perceptions of (...) religious officials is important in terms of revealing that it is necessary to work in a wide area from making identifications about their professional development to developing religious education and services training programs that will meet the needs of the target group. Qualitative research method has been used in this study. The research has been structured within the framework of interviews with religious officials assigned to provide religious education and service in the service areas of the Ministry of Family and Social Services in Kırıkkale province. The data obtained from religious officials working in the field with semi-structured interview questions are evaluated in two themes: The self-efficacy perceptions of officials and needs of the target audience. The main conclusion reached in this study is as follows: Needs- based and value-based training programs can be developed for religious workers in social service institutions. (shrink)

The Canadian residential sector contributes approximately 80 megatons of GHGs to the environment yearly. With the ratification of Kyoto Protocol, Canada has committed to reduce its 1990 GHG emission levels by at least 5% between 2008 and 2012. To meet this target, Canada must evaluate and exploit all feasible means to reduce fossil fuel energy consumption and GHG emissions. Test-case Canadian houses were modeled in the building-energy simulation software ESP-r. Requisite housing stock data were extracted from Canada's residential end-use energy (...) surveys. Photovoltaic and wind-turbine energy systems were assessed for their contribution to electricity generation and GHG savings. Typical household electrical consumption versus renewable electricity generation was assessed to estimate the GHG reduction, cost saving in electricity, and the impact of these technologies on single detached houses. With the use of net-metering, 100% of electricity requirements can be met by these technologies in certain cases, resulting in significant reductions in GHG emissions. (shrink)

Health care professionals experience moral distress due to challenging ethical decision-making during patient care. Self-awareness can be associated with moral distress. This study determined the levels of and relationship between moral distress and self-awareness of health care professionals. A convenience sample of physicians and nurses was recruited. Data were collected using the Moral Distress and Self-Awareness Scales. In total, 168 physicians and 201 nurses participated with a mean age of 30.54 ± 7.87 and clinical experience of 6.40 ± 6.22 years. (...) Moderate levels of moral distress (127.07 ± 71.90) and high levels of self-awareness (70.20 ± 11.37) were found. A weak positive correlation was found between self-awareness and moral distress (r = 0.21, p < 0.001) and weak negative correlation between moral distress (r = − 0.115, p = 0.03) and age. Nurses were more self-aware, but no differences were observed in moral distress based on sex and clinical settings. A weak correlation between self-awareness and moral distress may suggest that self-awareness can increase intrapersonal tensions, contributing to distress. Further research is needed to support any conclusive relationship between moral distress and self-awareness. (shrink)

One of the problems regarding one of the breaking points in the history of Islamic thought is the presidency. Muslims did not only fall into a theoretical conflict on this issue, but unfortunately, they also engaged in actual battles. The disagreement among Muslims has retained its influence to the present day and has shaped both the religious and worldly views of Muslims. The debate on the identity of the candidate who will assume the role of Muhammad and organize the religious (...) and worldly affairs of Muslims has set the scene of historical conflicts that manifest themselves in the theoretical and practical fields. The religious references made in order to legitimize the political theses caused the said theses to be institutionalized, and matters basically of a political character were associated with religion. Among the Islamic sects, especially Shia, attributed an existential meaning to the problem of the presidency and shaped all their religious and worldly views on this axis. The Shia, who considered the presidency almost a basis of faith, assigned a rank close to prophethood to the heads of state. Zaydiyya stands out as the closest branch of the Shia to the Ahl al-Sunnah in terms of politics. They think more moderately about the characteristics of the head of state, heads of state other than Ali, and the Companions. Ahl as-Sunnah considers the presidency essentially as a juristically -political issue. Bringing this discussion into the field of belief, even with the aim of objecting to Shia, who sees the presidency as a problem of faith and systematizes this problem, shows the first effects of Shia on Sunni political thought. In order to defend Ali's presidency and to question the legitimacy of others, Shia brought the issue into the field of belief, and sought to prove that Ali was superior in the sight of Allah, and therefore, more worthy of the presidency, by referring to various religious texts. Shia examined the issue in a dogmatic way in order to prove his political theses strongly and establish absolute authority. As an inevitable consequence of this method, the institution of the presidency is endowed with divine powers. The theses that the heads of state are appointed with religious references and have the quality of ismah (infallibility) are the most concrete reflections of this approach. Ahl as-Sunnah tried to justify Abu Bakr's legitimacy by defending his superiority against Shia, who defended Ali's superiority. This approach reveals the methodical interaction as well as taking on the mission of responding to Shia effectively in its own way. Shamsaddin as-Samarqandī, whose political imagination we have examined, is a Sunni scholar belonging to the Hanafi - Maturidite kalam tradition. Due to his political views and style, he is also described as a Shiite by some. By examining Samarqandī's concept of politics in the context of his ideas on the general philosophy of theology, we can have clearer information about his sectarian belonging and political stance. He adopted the analytical method in politics, as in other issues, and revealed his own unique style and views, while adhering to the main vein of Ahl as-Sunnah. He adopted the analytical method in politics, as in other issues, and revealed his own unique style and views, while adhering to the main street of Ahl al-Sunnah. (shrink)

This article critically engages with Denis Villeneuve’s Blade Runner 2049, focusing on the relationship between colonial logics and biological engineering that understands the natural world as property. First, it discusses the connections between the film and the shifting status of biopolitics becoming thanatopolitics, prompted by advances in synthetic biology. It argues that the film’s preoccupation with the reproductive capacity of its replicants retraces a racialized colonialism and reconfigured slavery, or the voluntary labour of the occupied – as normalized in synthetic (...) biology and the ongoing processes of devaluing of some lives over others for socioeconomic reasons. Second, and relatedly, the film reveals how deeply the thanatopolitics of a biopolitical economy is rooted in an intensification of racialized and colonial logics. The film thus doubles as a medium in which to grasp the centrality of colonial and racial logics to the ongoing real subsumption of life by capital, and the ways in which it continues to shape the present. (shrink)

Waggish Coquetry in South Asian Street Communication critically examines the role of coquettish remarks in urban life of South Asia, in the context of the sociology and linguistics of South Asian street communication. Ali R. Fatihi explores the design and structure of coquetry, and in so doing sheds light on the role of gendered street communication as a type of sexual harassment. Fatihi takes up the semiology of the street, focusing on the street as the locus of communication and its (...) meaning in the community"--Provided by publisher. (shrink)

Abstract“The Book of Secrets in the Results of Ideas”, usually called “The Book of Secrets” is a codex containing drawings and descriptions of thirty-one artifacts attributed to the engineer Alī Ibn Khalaf al-Murādī, who lived in Andalusia in southern Spain at the beginning of the 11th century. This manuscript is one of the first written testimonies that describe medieval mechanisms with complex precision. The aim of this work is to reconstruct and study from a historical and technological point of view (...) two of the ancient artifacts contained in the “Book of Secrets”, the “Fortress Demolisher” and the “Magic Well”. The “Fortress Demolisher” is a war machine designed to demolish the upper part of the walls or towers and consists of a battering ram mounted on a platform that can be raised several meters above the ground using a scissor mechanism. The “Magic Well” is a mechanism with several pulleys whose purpose is to raise water several meters from the bottom of a well by collecting a small portion of rope. To reconstruct the two artifacts, a digital model and a detailed study of the geometry and operation of the mechanisms, were first carried out. 3D printing, using the Fused Deposition Modelling technology, made the physical reproduction. The digitization and physical reproduction by 3D printing of the mechanisms represent an update of the traditional ways of transmitting knowledge. The use of these new technologies makes the knowledge more accessible, understandable and attractive. (shrink)

Los discursos públicos que circulan sobre las matemáticas y su aprendizaje determinan el modo en que las familias y los alumnos dan sentido a sus experiencias escolares. En Estados Unidos, estos discursos pueden desempeñar un papel importante en el desarrollo de la política educativa pública debido al compromiso de los consejos escolares públicos de escuchar las voces de la comunidad, así como al reciente (aunque no nuevo) aumento de la organización de grupos de padres conservadores bien financiados que trabajan para (...) mantener -y exacerbar- la desigualdad de oportunidades educativas que persiste en este país. En este trabajo analizamos el discurso público en torno al aprendizaje de las matemáticas en una reunión del consejo escolar local de la ciudad de Nueva York. Utilizando herramientas de análisis de la interacción, examinamos el discurso en torno a una propuesta para restablecer la selección basada en exámenes para la admisión en la escuela secundaria. Delineamos dos características clave de los supuestos de "sentido común" en torno al aprendizaje de las matemáticas que circularon en esta reunión -los estudiantes de matemáticas permanecen en una trayectoria de aprendizaje unidimensional, y con diferentes tasas de avance- e investigamos cómo estos supuestos jugaron en la construcción de un mundo figurado de "matemáticas escolarizadas". Argumentamos que las consecuencias que se derivan necesariamente de estos supuestos de sentido común construyen las matemáticas como jerárquicas y fijas, situando a los alumnos en una trayectoria de aprendizaje unidimensional. Por último, situamos este conjunto de supuestos emergentes en el proyecto racial neoliberal y consideramos las formas en que configuran una imaginación particular de la escolarización y las matemáticas bajo el neoliberalismo. (shrink)

Name der Zeitschrift: Der Islam Jahrgang: 94 Heft: 2 Seiten: 496-526.

The present study investigates variability among raters from different linguistic backgrounds, who evaluated the pragmatic performance of English language learners with varying native languages (L1s) by using both self- and peer-assessments. To this end, written discourse completion task (WDCT) samples of requesting speech acts from 10 participants were collected. Thereafter, the participants were asked to assess their peers’ WDCTs before assessing their own samples using the same rating scale. The raters were further asked to provide an explanation for their rating (...) decisions. Findings indicate that there may indeed be a link between a rater’s language background and their scoring patterns, although the results regarding peer- and self-assessment are mixed. There are both similarities and differences in the participants’ use of pragmatic norms and social rules in evaluating appropriateness. (shrink)

Qism 1. al-Turāth al-falsafī al-Yūnānī ḥattá Aflāṭūn.

Asırlarca Tevrat’ın Musa tarafından yazılan vahiy mahsulü bir eser olduğuna inanıldı. Geleneksel Yahudiliğin günümüzde de devam ettirdiği bu inanç Batı dünyasında yapılan eleştirel çalışmalarla sorgulanmaya başlandı. Bu araştırmalarda, Tevrat’ın değişik zamanlarda yaşayan farklı isimler tarafından kaleme alınan bir eser olduğu ortaya konuldu. Bu eleştirel araştırmaların zirve noktasını Julius Wellhausen tarafından son şekli verilen ve Tevrat’ın dört farklı kaynaktan oluştuğunu ileri süren Dört Kaynak Hipotezi oluşturur. Çoğunlukla kabul gören bu görüşe, 1970’lerden itibaren yapılan bazı çalışmalarla ciddi anlamda itiraz edildi. Bu makalenin (...) konusu, Dört Kaynak Hipotezi’ne büyük ölçüde karşı çıkan ve Tevrat’ın üç temel kaynaktan oluştuğunu ileri süren Kanadalı araştırmacı John Van Seters’in (d. 1935) Tevrat eleştirisidir. Van Seters’in en dikkat çekici iddiası, Tevrat’ın kaynaklarından Yahvist metnin milattan önce altıncı yüzyılda Babil Sürgünü’nde yaşamış bir tarihçi yazar tarafından başta Tesniye olmak üzere Tesniyeci Tarih, peygamber kitapları ve Antik Yakın Doğu anlatıları dikkate alınarak yazıldığıdır. Çalışmada, Van Seters’in bu iddiası üzerinde durulacaktır. (shrink)

Biography of ʻAbd Allāh ibn Muḥammad ʻAyn al-Quḍāh al-Hamadhānī, d. 1131, a Muslim saint from Iran.

The article studies two related issues. First, it introduces the notion of the contraposition of quantifiers which is a “dual” notion of symmetry and has similar relations to co-intersectivity as symmetry has to intersectivity. Second, it shows how symmetry and contraposition can be generalised to higher order type quantifiers, while preserving their relations with other notions from generalized quantifiers theory.