Paula the Lighthouse Years

By Suzan K. Heglin

In the 1930's lighthouse keeping was dangerous and mundane, a way of life and isolation from life. Estonia was thriving and backward, unique and powerless. Women were submissive and yet the impetus for all things. And marriage was mandatory. But romantic love was the sweetest and most unlikely twist of fate.

Paula is a woman I knew in my childhood. She was an Estonian immigrant. She was a mail-order bride. Her husband was an Estonian-American, a lighthouse keeper, a wife beater and maybe a pedophile.

Paula, an educated woman in Estonia, came to this country not knowing the language or culture and was kept a virtual prisoner for more than a decade at a string of lighthouses on the rugged Alaskan coast. Paula was a woman who's life, while dictated by tradition, was full of excitement and adventure and characterized by passion and courage. And while at times there seems no end to the misery she endured, a love story unfolds.

Come along on this true journey inside real lighthouse living and one woman's life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jan 3, 2006
• ISBN: 9781462804023

Book preview

Copyright © 2005 by Suzan K. Heglin.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-888-795-4274

www.Xlibris.com

[e-mail]

28405

Contents

Forward

Chapter 1: Before the Light

Chapter 2: Omnibus

Chapter 3: Point Retreat

Chapter 4: Sojourn

Chapter 5: Guard Island

Chapter 6: Tree Point

Chapter 7: Pt. Home

Chapter 8: After the Light

Chapter 9: Sunlight

Appendix

Forward

Pauline Alexius was a woman I knew when I was a child. She was our next door neighbor. She spoke English, when she spoke at all, in a deep voice with a heavy accent. She didn’t seem particularly comfortable around us children, but she kept Kool Aid on hand for when we visited. She had all of us drink out of one cup. She moved carefully and quietly around her house and property. And she was always alone.

My mother helped her with grocery shopping and other issues of living. We invited her to some of our parties. My mother helped put her into an old folk’s home when the time came, where she lost her English entirely. At her funeral only my mother and her lawyer were in attendance.

After she died, many years after she died, actually, I began to think of myself as her only living heir. Not from a financial stand-point, not by any means, or by genetic association, but from the perspective that I was the only one left alive who thought about her and her life. I had inherited her story, her history, and it was my duty to keep her alive in memory. Only after someone is forgotten are they really dead. I could not let that happen.

In researching her story for the telling, I found no living relatives. While many people said they knew her or knew of her, I found no close friends. The woman who had spent the most time with her told me, when I asked what she was like oh, she was like any foreigner. She didn’t keep a diary, not that I found, anyway. And thus the story was pieced together from photographs, letters, official records, and memories from acquaintances.

I have not attempted to recreate her story in factual details, but more in spirit. I have deliberately changed some of the facts as a writer’s device to condense information. I also have changed some of the facts so as not to be attempting an exact historical record of her life. For instance, I know for a fact that Pauline had two sisters, one older, one younger. In the story I have given her five. I added sisters instead of confusing the plot line with cousins and friends which I know were also a part of her life.

Another major change is placing her as a rural one-room school teacher when she first communicated with her future husband. This is not a fact. She was at one time such a school teacher, but had worked as a book-keeper for many years in a fairly large company when she and Augustus (August) became acquainted. This fact I changed, frankly, to make a better story, but also to more easily convey a feeling of isolation that she must have had at the time.

All people represented in the book are based on real life people who existed in the realm of west-coast lighthouse life. Most characters, however, are fictionalized. I have combined personality traits and have displaced characters in time and space from their real-life counterparts.

Events recounted in the book are overwhelmingly drawn from truth. References to political occurrences in Estonia and maritime events are true. Even the ghost stories about the light houses are established folk lore. Many of these references, however, may not occur in the story at their exact historical time.

Many readers have thought me very creative in devising scenes. Really, most significant scenes or occurrences are real. The conversations and the portrayal of emotions is where the fictionalized elements come in. Actual events also may be displaced in time or space.

I hope with all my changes, interpolations and extrapolations, that the essence will not be lost. Paula was constrained by her religion, her culture and her time. But she came across an ocean to marry a man she did not know and live in a country where she did not even speak the language. Pauline was an exceptional woman. She had remarkable courage and spirit, and, I believe, she deserved better than she got in life.

A mystery remains. One postcard to Paula said: Congratulations on your son. I told the translator she had no children. The translator was adamant. That is what that card said. Did Paula have a baby and lose it? Was it a joke about her husband or a dog or something else? There were no other references anywhere. I could have added some dramatic scenes about a lost infant, but without further verification I chose not to.

An omission: one witness who had been a keeper, said that August never made head keeper in the Lighthouse Service despite being a crack mechanic because he had molested the children of the other keepers. It was so evil it would have changed the course of the book, so I only hinted at it.

One more thing. I did not write Paula as some version of me. On the contrary, it was a challenge to write from the perspective of a woman whose internal framework and life path were so very different than my own. Pauline had more courage than me, more sense of self, more perseverance and dedication. We do not share religious beliefs. She did not have my creativity nor my intellectual curiosity. I would never put up with a physically abusive man and, having been married to an emotionally abusive man, I’ve learned to identify and avoid men with these issues and strongly urge other women to do likewise (please see appendix). Despite our differences, I represented her as purely as I could, and I respect Paula as a person and as an icon of her time.

Pauline, wherever you are, thank you for what you’ve brought to my life. I hope I’ve captured something of your strength and your struggle and I hope that your spirit will be felt. May you live forever.

PROLOGUE

Before the Light

Chapter 1

1930

Did you hear? Irina shouted, rushing into the kitchen. Her coat was still around her thin shoulders, her hands fumbled to unwind her scarf. Lara Koretkoff has gone to America! She emphasized the last word, her pale blue eyes twinkling. To be married!

Irina’s four older sisters turned from their stations in the kitchen. Momma didn’t look up from her kneading bread. The girls looked from Irina to each other, all a little excited at the news.

Irina continued, still breathless, it would seem she answered an advertisement for a wife. He sent for her sight unseen, after exchanging only a few letters!

Finally, Katerina rose to her full height and spoke, turning to the oldest girl at the table, Paula, who was sitting slicing carrots at the large table in the center of the kitchen. Perhaps Paula should start reading the paper more. It’s time she were wed.

The other girls turned to Paula who met her younger sister’s gazes with sparkling blue eyes set amid soft, white wrinkles. The rest of the girls were silently entertaining the notion of sending their older sister away. Though Katerina and Lydia were engaged, it was not considered proper for sisters to marry and leave home out of their birth order, and they saw Paula’s bachelor status as slowing down their own debut into the world.

Paula was seven years older than Katerina, who at thirty was at the crest of her personal strength. The sister’s ages stepped down in intervals of about five after Katerina. There was Lydia the beauty of the family, Miri(Marie) the social one, and Irina, the baby. Daria, the oldest sister, had married eight years previous and had produced two children. Paula had been feeling some pressure to marry since she reached the proper age, around seventeen, but never so much as since Katerina had met and fallen in love with Boris Kamarovski. Now Katerina pressured Paula to marry. Perhaps Katerina coveted Paula’s dowry. Perhaps the pressure on Paula through Katerina was from Boris, who was even more a slave to convention than Katerina.

Perhaps Katerina used Paula’s maidenhood as an excuse not to marry Boris or to excuse Boris for not going ahead and marrying her. Whatever the reason, lately Katerina’s attacks on Paula became more frequent and more insensitive. Looking into Katerina’s eyes, so filled with pointed animosity, Paula had to concentrate on the pattern of her breathing in order to stay calm.

You know I am very interested in my career, Katerina, Paula said flatly. Paula knew that was only party true. At first, going to college, becoming a Modern Estonian Woman, working for a living, did appeal to her. But there were also unrequited loves, unspoken infatuations, and relationships that never amounted to more than a one-sided crush. Now she was feeling her life had come to a stand still. She had lost her job as a bookkeeper when the company had financial problems, and she was back teaching at the country school, where life moved more like it did in 1830 than 1930. She would be ready for a change, but right now, with all her sister’s eyes on her, what she needed was some support.

Finally Momma spoke, still not moving her eyes from the pastry in front of her, careers are for women who can not find husbands. All the girls fell silent. Momma was not to be countered. No appeal was allowed. Momma had handed down her judgment, for the first time, in front of all the girls. Now the issue had become official.

Paula’s heart felt like it stopped. Without moving her eyes from the sturdy figure of her mother, she tried to think of her next move, she wanted to cry out, Yes, but I haven’t Katerina’s tall, lean figure, or Lydia’s sweet smile, I haven’t Miri’s lustrous hair or Irina’s fair skin, I haven’t even Daria’s ease and grace when in the company of men. I do love my teaching the children at the community school, but I’d really rather have children to call my own, and a tall, handsome, hardworking husband to protect us all. Those were the words she wanted to say. But her eyes never wavered, her lips never parted. Paula had spent her whole life learning to be quiet and respectful.

28405-HEGL-layout.pdf

The next morning, before sunrise, Paula wrapped her old wool coat around her and walked the five kilometers to the public transportation station where she got on a sleigh that would take her to the small town of Zagrel where she walked many more kilometers to the small school house. On the sleigh she brazenly looked into the faces of the male passengers. She was unable to catch anyone’s eye. As she stepped down from the carriage the driver leered a little her way. She turned to see his large, coarse mustache raise to reveal a mouth without any teeth, only an occasional sharp spike protruding from his swollen gums. She quickly turned to pick up a newspaper someone had left on a seat, and nervously stuffed it into her coat.

At the school house she chopped a little kindling from the split wood around back and built a fire in the small cast iron stove in the front of the classroom. The sun was rising. The students would be arriving by 5:30. She slipped behind the heavy black curtain to her living area and pulled out the newspaper, quickly fumbling to the back pages where she hoped to find an advertisement. She dropped the paper with a sigh. No personal advertisements this week. As she bent to pick up the paper, she saw an old paper half under her bed, a paper she had stood her boots on before getting into bed. Turning neatly to the back page she inhaled rapidly.

Captain in the United States Coast Guard seeks correspondence with woman for the purposes of determining matrimonial qualifications. The address given was in America.

Paula rushed up to the desk at the head of the classroom and retrieved some paper and a pen. She dipped the pen into the ink, etched the address onto an envelope, then she held the pen poised over a blank piece of paper. What to say about herself…

She began:

Dear Captain, I am a young woman from Nomme, from a large, respected family. My father is a carpenter, and he has produced six healthy girls.

Paula stopped. Then she started again, changing the words to say woman instead of young woman, and six healthy children.

I am in good health. I am a teacher at a rural community school. I have also worked as a bookkeeper. I am a good citizen and a hard worker. I will make a good wife. She signed the letter Cordially, Paula Simson. Looking over the letter she approved it and folded it meticulously, sliding it into the envelope and then into her pocket.

She couldn’t wait to post the letter. She felt it in her pocket all day. The children filtered in and were all seated in their chairs for the morning prayer. After the prayer they ate their breakfast. Then they cleaned the classroom for an hour and then had several hours of recitation. Paula’s thoughts had to be controlled through all of this. Though generally well in hand, she could not allow her attention to drift to the thoughts that tried to squeeze into her mind whenever the class quieted or the wind brushed the windows. At the noon prayer, however, she did add a few extra verses in her own mind.

She was not able to post the letter until Friday when she walked back to the little town to catch the wagon. Posting it was easy. The agony came anticipating the reply.

The days grew shorter as she waited for an answer to her letter. In the outlying communities in Estonia there was no electricity and no gas. There were no roads that motor cars would venture onto. Paula knew that her family didn’t fight the cold, isolation and darkness the way she did. Everything was modern in Tallin, the capital of Estonia, and Nomme was close enough to enjoy some of those blessings. But in Zagrel she would shiver through the long dark nights, waking several times in the night to stuff the small firebox of the woodstove that stood so far from her bed. Days she taught basic education to the children of the local farmers. She watched the children with a stern face. They, too, shivered from the cold. Many were quite poor and their clothes did not keep out the weather they had to travel through to attend school each day. But, as was tradition, it was thought that discussions of such misfortunes only drew attention to them, thus making them worse. She offered no comfort.

On Fridays she would take the droshky, a sleigh, back to her home town to spend the weekend with her family. A long journey, but she drew strength from the solid structure her father had built with his hands, she drew strength from the sight of her mother, always working, and she drew strength from the exuberance of her sisters, particularly Miri and Irina.

On Saturday the girls were all gathered in the kitchen again. Paula listened to the conversations in hope of a word about Lara Koretkoff. She dared not ask. The women engaged in gossip cautiously, it was not considered virtuous to mind the affairs of others. Paula savored the rich smells of the kitchen. She looked at the fresh faces around her, cheeks pink from the warmth of the cook stove. She loved the noisy, almost unruly quality of these discussions. It was such a change from the school which was so regimented when full of children, so empty without them.

Lydia still blushed at the mention of Nikolaus Jakobson. Lydia had met the lad at the market, then he arranged for a proper introduction through Boris Kamarovski, a casual acquaintance of his. Paula liked to hear her speak of Nikolaus, it all seemed so romantic to her. Paula knew that it was an era in which Estonians were realists and most women despised sentimentality, suspicious of romanticism, but in the last years Paula found herself drawn to a good melodrama, particularly one with a happy ending.

When speaking of beaus Paula didn’t see the glimmer in Katerina’s eyes that she saw in Lydia’s, even though Katerina was pushing harder for marriage. Katerina was a soul motivated by her vision of the distant horizon. Many of the subtleties of everyday life eluded Katerina. She was ambitious. Demanding of herself, and demanding of others. Paula knew that while some type of love existed between Katerina and Boris, Boris had been chosen because he was the man for the job. He had a strong personality, like Katerina, and a strong drive to succeed. Such a drive might some day roll over a woman, Paula thought, but if anyone could handle the reigns on a man such as this, it would be Katerina.

This particular Saturday Daria and her family were coming in from the city. Daria was the salt of the earth. She was confident in her manner and as competent at helping her husband Jaak run their business in town as she was at raising their children, Tanya and Artur. Paula needed some advice from Daria. She waited through dinner, and after the late evening drink of brandy, which was a winter treat afforded the adults only on special occasions and celebrations. Finally Paula cornered Daria alone in the small living room.

Daria, please, a moment. Daria turned with a sweet smile, though she felt an urgency to begin the trek to her home. Daria’s jet black hair shone in the dim light. About marriage… what does a man look for in a wife?

Daria looked at her younger sister for a moment. Paula had always been serious, always struggling to do the right thing. But Daria had always thought that, really, Paula had a stronger, more independent spirit than any of them. She sensed that Paula was much more than she appeared to be on the surface. What do you look for in a husband? A hard worker. A good provider. Someone companionable. Paula looked perplexed. Men are looking for the same thing. Then Daria turned to gather and bundle her children. It was clear to Paula that Daria was also a realist.

Finally the day arrived that a letter had come to the school. Her heart pounded as she sat on the edge of her cot and closed the curtain between her living space and the empty schoolhouse. The letter read:

Paula Simson,

I reviewed your letter. I have had many replies to my advertisement, and yours is only one letter of many under consideration. I have some reservations about your qualifications as a wife. You did not mention any domestic skills. Can you cook? Can you sew and clean and keep a house? Please address these specific issues.

Paula’s heart sank. How could she hope to compete with younger, prettier girls? She had obviously not made a very favorable impression. Then she read the last line. It was signed I anxiously await your reply. She read that last line over and over. She had impressed him in some way, his salutation contradicted the tone of the rest of the letter. She quickly formulated a reply.

 . . . I will be happy to make my own wedding dress, should the occasion arise… my specialty in the kitchen is piroski, which it is my responsibility to provide at each holiday gathering… She posted it with an unfamiliar feeling of confidence. As she turned from the mail carriers, she whispered to herself now I have a young man.

Paula all of a sudden felt the need to be pretty. She had always dressed with some attention to style without it dominating her interests. She had cut her hair into a bob many years past and changed the part and curls every other year to keep current. In the kitchen, on one of her visits home, the conversation turned again to marriage and beauty.

Anna Jaansen will never find a husband, Irina spoke, with a fifteen year old’s arrogance, regarding an unpopular school mate, she’s simply too ugly.

Beauty is not boiled in a pot for a meal, Momma said, quoting an old proverb, one of her most notable characteristics.

Miri, a little older at twenty but not much wiser, shook her head, trying to lessen the harshness of Irina’s statement She could, perhaps, find herself an old man, a widower.

Better her than me. Irina continued, I want a husband that’s young and strong and handsome.

Better under an old man’s beard than under a young man’s fist, Momma quoted again.

Modern men don’t have beards, Momma, Irina countered.

Miri rolled her eyes, Oh, I like mustaches. Big ones. The two girls giggled.

Like Boris’? Katerina hedged, He’s very proud of his mustache.

It makes him look like a Bolshevik! Blurted out Irina, and the two younger sisters broke into peals of laughter again.

Momma was in a ‘proverb mood.’ On occasion, usually when she didn’t sanction the tone a conversation was taking, but before tiring of it, her conversation would consist only of proverbs, buffered by no other conversation. The older girls tended to change the subject when they heard proverbs from Momma, in an attempt to avoid rapprochement or a long winded lecture on how a woman should behave. The younger sisters were more intrepid, they lived dangerously.

Every man praises himself, Momma said, still attending to her cooking, But the fox praises his tail.

What does that mean? Miri asked.

At that point Paula and Katerina decided to go out for more coal, and to feed the chickens and do some of the evening chores. Paula was feeling a certain, unaccustomed camaraderie with Katerina at that moment, having made such a smooth escape from her mother’s kitchen. She initiated a conversation as they were filling their aprons with chicken feed. What is it you like best about Boris, Katerina?

Katerina turned a suspicious eye toward Paula. She surveyed her smaller sister and scrutinized her expression. Boris is the perfect man. Strong, handsome. He has more spirit than any of the other local offerings. Men aren’t easy to find these days.

I knew a lot of men when I worked as a bookkeeper. Paula offered.

Other women’s men.

When I was in the Young Women’s Military Support Circle I met a lot of unmarried men.

Men who are married now, to other women, or men who are dead now.

Paula sighed loudly and looked Katerina in the eye. She tired of Katerina’s perpetual blasting at her ego. Why must you address me in such a manner?

Katerina stopped. The cold air on Paula’s cheeks made them quite pink. She looked domestic standing there in her apron. I don’t mean to, Paula, Katerina said flatly, I do believe someday we will come to be friends. And as they stood there they each realized all the things they had in common. They were Modern Estonian Women. They were educated. They were ambitious, compared to their mother’s generation. They were practical and level headed, unlike their younger sisters. Even some of their interests were the same, though Katerina leaned more to graphic arts and politics and Paula inclined toward literature and economics. They clearly appreciated each other’s qualities. Somehow, though, as can happen in families, they were in competition, and for this brief epoch in their lives, when fall was turning harshly into winter, the competition was fierce.

28405-HEGL-layout.pdf

The winter wrapped it’s chilly fingers around Paula’s family. A month passed between when she wrote the first letter and when she received a reply. The second letter was still waiting a reply six weeks later. Her family noticed her growing anxiousness and worried her health might be failing. At the school her students found her occasionally allowing her eyes to be drawn to the window where she surveyed the gray countryside surrounding the schoolhouse.

After a particularly arduous day Paula noticed a little boy dawdling. Ivan, just eight, in his first year at the school, was from the poorest family. He was fussing with his books several minutes after the other students had left for the day. Ivan Kes, she said, approaching the small boy, there is no need for you to stay. Class is dismissed.

The small face turned up to her. Yes, Maam. They stood assessing each other for a moment. The boy spoke at last, It’s just so cold, and so far to home, and I’m so hungry. The boy’s bread sack was always thinner than the others. Now that he stood before her Paula recalled that she had noticed him eating only rye bread for lunch, never any pork, as the other children had, and he spread his butter very thinly.

She had noticed the boy appearing even smaller as the winter progressed and she had noticed dark circles appearing under the boy’s eyes. The cold must be keeping him up at night, she thought, as it does me. It does one no benefit to dwell on such things. She said quietly. The boy’s face turned to the floor. Though primary schooling had become mandatory until the sixteenth year, many such boys were lost because of the hardships of attending school. Paula wanted him to stay in school. Listen, I can make you a little broth, to warm you before you go. His face turned up again, and she saw a big smile spread across his face.

She heated the broth on the stove and served the bowl down into his waiting hands. He took it with gratitude, drinking it quickly despite its heat. Then she helped him with his coat. You know, in the Soviet capitol, the great city of St. Petersburg, the winters are nearly six months long and much colder than our winters here.

Have you been there Paula Simson?

No. She replied, patting his head. But I intend to go. She smiled at the boy. Would you like a riddle?

Yes! The boy exclaimed with more enthusiasm than she’d ever seen him exhibit.

Okay, first white as snow, then green as grass, then red as blood and sweet as honey.

Ivan thought for a moment. She could see the concentration on his face, a vain pulsing on his forehead under his pale skin, A flag? He said hopefully, and then with a little embarrassment, but I don’t know which one. He fidgeted while awaiting her answer.

No, a strawberry.

A strawberry, yes! She saw his expression change from one of understanding to one of sadness. She realized to mention food to the hungry was a grossly inconsiderate blunder.

That’s a wonderful riddle, Miss Simson, I’ll go home and tell it to my older brother, I’m sure he won’t get it. His voice was sad, but truly appreciative nonetheless. Paula watched his little shoulders, burdened far beyond his years, turn to the door. She put her hand on that little shoulder and said to him as she saw him out the door, remember, winter doesn’t last forever.

Somehow, after those special moments with the child, the room seemed a little warmer and the wait for the letter didn’t seem as tortuous. In the following days Paula offered broth to Ivan several more times, each time he was eager to accept and eager to hear whatever she chose to tell him about. Sometimes she would remind him that he was born in a free world, but his parents were not. Other times they would talk about America. She began to feel very fond of him, which was considered unprofessional and harmful for a teacher to gain any familiarity with her students. But she took her talks with Ivan to heart. She was living in a free country. She was part of the new Estonia.

As a new Estonian woman Paula had lived a modern sophisticated life compared to that her mother and aunts had led. Paula had been born in Narve, educated in Tartu, worked as a bookkeeper in Tallinn, and now lived in Nomme. Her sister, Katerina, had also moved and traveled around the country. Just last year she had spent a month in Budapest, the year before that she had taken a course at the University of Florence in Italy. Their mother, Mirna, in contrast, had been born in Narva, raised in Narva, married in Narva and raised her children in Narva. It was only the fighting and the tensions in that pivotal border town between the Soviet Union and Estonia that finally forced the family to relocate. Katerina and Paula, now, found their ages inclining them back to the fires and sentiments of home.

It was this resurgence of domesticity in Paula, along with some other pressures, that made her pursue finding a husband. It was her international competition with Katerina that made the idea of marrying a stranger in a foreign country palatable. Any thing in America was good, so her prospects seemed bright.

At her family’s home, Daria approached Paula to inquire if she had a particular man in mind. Everyone was concerned about Paula at this point. Paula confessed to corresponding with a man. Do you think it’s wise to place all of your eggs in the same basket? Daria asked, thinking Paula should consider more traditional means of finding a husband.

I feel this is the thing for me to do. I believe we will marry.

You’ve exchanged but one letter, how much can you know about this man? And you haven’t heard from him in almost two months.

Daria’s doubts were all Paula needed to reaffirm her own confidence in the situation. He is a captain in the United States Coast Guard. He is a hard worker. A man of rank and status. He is serious in his pursuit of a wife. And, remember, mail service is much slower in winter because everything must go through Tallinn, the only unfrozen seaport. You’ll see.

True to her predictions the reply arrived the next Monday. Paula saved the letter until after all the pupils had left. It was ragged, it had been misdirected, perhaps, but it was intact. It read:

Dear Paula Simson, Paula stopped there. ‘Dear.’ She read on, breathless, "I have just received your letter. It would seem that you would indeed be a good choice for marriage. If you agree to the same I will arrange for your travel to the U.S.A. and for the wedding. I have enclosed a photo of myself. I would like you to send a photo of yourself with your acceptance of my proposal.

"I assume that because you are an educated person with some worldly knowledge that you speak English. Estonian is not spoken here.

I look forward to meeting you.

Paula pulled the photo out of the envelope. It revealed a man standing, in full dress uniform. Oh, my, she gasped to herself, impressed at the meticulously kept, well decorated uniform. His face was very small in the photo, but it seemed his face was neither ugly nor outstanding.