The plays of the Cuban-American playwright and director, Maria Irene Fornes, illustrate effectively Andrzej Wirth's observation of the paradoxical situation of “Brecht reception without Brecht.”¹ Fornes comes to the theater with a background in the visual arts and traces her interest in the theater from the time she saw Roger Blin's production of Beckett's Waiting for Godot as an art student in Paris. This experience led her to Lee Strasberg's Actor's Studio where she studied playwrighting and directing. Though the aesthetics of the Method seem rather remote from Brechtian theatrical practices, Brecht's techniques of Verfremdung have become the universal language of contemporary theater, irrespective of ideological contexts in which montage, epic narration or foregrounded theatricality are practiced. Consequently, this paradox of Brechtian reception suggests, as Marc Silberman mentions, an “epistemological decentering” of Brecht's theory and practice.²

In reference to interpreting the reception of historical events Brecht himself observed that an “image that gives historical definition will retain something of the rough sketching which indicates traces of other movements and features all around the fully worked figure. Or imagine,” he writes, “a man standing in a valley” making a speech “in which he occasionally changes his views or simply utters sentences that contradict one another, so that the accompanying echo forces them into confrontation.”³ In post-Brechtian theater the contradictions of the echoing voices have to do with the reception of Brecht's own theory and practice when they are considered along with the practices of the theater of the absurd, performance art, musical reviews and satiric theater, as well as mainstream Broadway productions. Brecht's decidedly Derridean observation may, as a result, be applied to an analysis of Fornes' work, which is accompanied by echoes and tracings of Brecht's influence as sketched on theater in general to reappear combined with the “traces of other movements and features” such as the theater of the absurd, to give Fornes' work its “fully worked figure” or character. As Herbert Blau observes, “since Brecht, and his assault on illusion, the lights are not always hidden now”;⁴ consequently, the dispersal of Brecht's techniques materializes in Fornes' work as reception of the Gestus or the Verfremdungseffekt without acknowledgement, an expropriation that ironically places Brecht into the position of the “other.”

Despite the unacknowledged evidence of what may be described as Brechtian distancing techniques in Fornes' plays, it is nevertheless useful to discuss Brecht's influence on Fornes' theatrical practices since, as Elin Diamond suggests, “feminist theory and Brechtian theory need to be read intertextually, for among the effects of such a reading are a recovery of the radical potential of the Brechtian critique and a discovery, for feminist theory, of the specificity of theatre.” Diamond's feminist revaluation of Brecht proposes that Brecht's attention to the dialectical and contradictory forces within social relations, and his commitment to alienation techniques and nonmimetic disunity in theatrical signification generate a relationship to theatrical space that is not exclusively based on ideology but shaped more by pleasurable engagement in observation and analysis.⁵

In particular the Gestus serves as an especially powerful agent for spectatorial disengagement, and Diamond's conclusion that “gestic feminist criticism would ‘alienate’ or foreground those moments in a play in which social attitudes about gender could be made visible”⁶ is particularly relevant to an analysis of Fornes' theatrical practices. The Gestus, as Brecht would have it, may occur through language as well as in gist or gesture;⁷ however, the significance of the Gestus, as Patrice Pavis describes, is that it “radically cleaves the performance into two blocks: the shown (the said) and the showing (the staging), a point of interaction of the enunciating gesture and the enunciated discourse,”⁸ thereby illustrating the fact that theatrical utterance is made up of shifting movements of verbal, gestural and paralinguistic elements of “representation … pointing at itself.”⁹ Fornes' attention to the gestic nature of discourse illustrates effectively that expression in theater has to do with the simultaneous and equivalent sharing of verbal and gestic elements. In Fornes' Mud two languages emerge quite distinctly: one the visual signs that illustrate the limited social horizon of the characters as presented in the freeze-framed, demystified moments which “lead to conclusions about the entire structure of society in a particular time,”¹⁰ and the other, the stuttering and faltering discourse of the lower depths character—Mae, Lloyd and Henry—that enunciates the violence within the power dynamics of the play.

Mud, which has as its center the act of a woman coming to understand herself through language, clarifies the process of Mae's realization that “a free woman is one who has autonomy of thought.”¹¹ The encounters of the three characters, who have no language beyond one of the barest information, is presented in seventeen scenes which are separated by slow blackouts of eight seconds to show the process of dehumanization and the increasing violence of the inarticulate. Sometimes a scene is only an image, a few lines of dialogue or a close-up freeze frame with a strong pictorial composition. Since the action of the play is fragmented into discontinuous frames, the traditional concept of character is undermined as well. Instead, character is developed by means of a few repeated impulsive gestures, but, as Deborah R. Geis mentions, “that their ‘impulses’ as such are communicated in the gestic, self-narrated discourse of Brechtianism allows a partial recuperation of this fragmentation.”¹² The short scenes, blackouts and foregrounded theatricality emphasize Fornes' attitude toward reception since her authorial voice does not demand power over theatrical experience. In addition Fornes abnegates the manipulative powers of expressive language, evident in her dramatic language, which excludes excessive qualifiers, adjectives and complex sentences. Instead her sentences are simple and exist to communicate or question.

In Mud the characters are placed into a world that resembles the play's title; it is a world that is primitive, dirty and dulled by hopelessness and routine. Here the poor rural trio of Mae, Lloyd and Henry leads lives that are entirely functional. Mae is a woman trapped in both the poverty of her cultural history and by the two men who represent that impoverishment. Both Lloyd and Henry are dependent on Mae for material, emotional and sexual satisfaction, and their needs keep Mae within the sticky and dirty realm of mud. Throughout the play Mae's attempts to deal with the dirt are concentrated in the image of ironing the never-diminishing pile of men's trousers. Mae's ironing, as Jill Dolan mentions, works in the play as a kind of Gestus, replete with the illustration of the gender specific nature of the social arrangements in that household.¹³ However, despite her efforts to change her world through clean trousers and clean plates, Mae sees that the only escape from her abject position is to learn to use language so that she can understand what lies behind such terms as “arithmetic” or “medicine.” Simultaneously the spectator realizes that the mystification of such terms has to do with the inherent power of those who control language and deny access to others. When Mae brings back a pamphlet from the doctor in order to explain Lloyd's disease, she admits she cannot read it, “I tried to read it and it was too difficult. … It is advanced. I'm not advanced yet. I'm intermediate. I can read a lot of things but not this.”¹⁴ She also understands that “arithmetic” is “more” than numbers, but as she struggles to define the abstraction, she can only come up with “multiplication” (18).

While the characters' struggle with language presents their abject social situation, the setting illustrates their limited horizon. Their world is both stark and dirty, “ashen and cold,” a room set on an earth promontory five feet high. The two doors seem to lead to nowhere, although there is a blue sky visible through the exterior door. Stage props consist of the bare necessities of table and chairs and all the material possession of the characters: an assortment of eating utensils; a textbook; a box with pills; an ax; a rifle; cardboard boxes, one filled with Mae's clothes, one tied with string and one empty box. The stage picture Fornes presents is one of stripped-down realism, and while the mise-en-scène suggests the literal and figurative impoverishment of the characters, Fornes also uses the device of freezes following each scene to illustrate the limited sphere of action, as the characters in essence enact the effects of all that “mud” comes to represent. The tableau-like freezes serve to illustrate the imprisonment of the characters in their situation as well as to frame their limited possibilities of action, particularly those of Mae when she is framed by Lloyd and Henry as their objectified source of nurturing. As Geis observes, “the structure of the play replicates or ‘enacts’ its contents.”¹⁵ In addition the very short scenes as well as the eight second freezes project Fornes' attitude toward the spectators since these stylistic elements allow them to enter into contemplative moments as they assemble meaning from the montage-like juxtapositioning of actions, pictorial arrangements and foregrounded theatrical actions of actors dropping and reentering their roles.

However, it is primarily the gestic quality of Fornes' language that reveals the characters, for it is discourse that has the power to demonstrate and articulate their situation. Consequently, our understanding of the characters does not emerge through dialogue, for dialogue would suggest an ability on their part to communicate. Instead they communicate their situation through their struggle to grasp even the most elemental meaning. In his analysis of Brecht's influence on postmodern theater Wirth suggests that Brecht's most significant contribution to the structural changes in dramatic form was the distinction he made between dialogue and discourse.¹⁶ While dialogue serves the plot in order to sustain illusion, discourse engages the spectator in thought processes. Fornes has discovered her own stage language, a method of discourse in which fragments of thought and unruly contradictions are part of the process of questioning preconceived ideas, conventions and emotional responses. As Bonnie Marranca comments, “instead of the usual situation in which a character uses dialogue or action to explain what he or she is doing and why, [Fornes'] characters exist in the world by their very act of trying to understand it.”¹⁷

In their inarticulateness and their struggle for expression Fornes' characters from Mud resemble Franz Xavier Kroetz's theater of the inarticulate, and Kroetz's critique of Brechtian discourse may be relevant for discussing Fornes' contributions to theater. Kroetz found his ideal in the work of Marieluise Fleisser, whose plays present characters reduced by language. Similar to Mae's attempts to understand “mathematics” or “medicine,” Fleisser's characters disappear into their situation simply because they cannot comprehend it. Kroetz writes that in contrast to Fleisser the Brechtian proletarians always have a range of language at their disposal, a language that is never compromised by the their masters, and since Brecht's characters have such a competence in language, the way to a positive utopia or future is clearly visible.¹⁸ Instead Fleisser's characters attempt to use a language that does not serve them, and since they use an appropriated discourse automatically, they lose their selfhood. One can extend Kroetz's observations on Fleisser to Fornes since the connection between their characters' incompetence in discourse is closely related to their lack of perspective. Initially Fornes' characters appear totally isolated from the rest of the world; no sign of radio, television or shopping-mall culture intrudes into their reality. Nevertheless, as Mae attempts to abandon her squalid life by attending adult education classes, she unwittingly becomes subject to a culturally-conditioned discourse to which she has little access. However, Fornes, unlike Fleisser and Kroetz, provides her characters the attainment of selfhood through subjectivity. And even though Mae fails to break through the seemingly impenetrable barrier that “mathematics” or “medicine” represent, the freedom suggested by the door to the open blue sky represents the potential to an open future, and in projecting a glimmer of that freedom, Fornes attempts to shape the potential outcome of Mae's struggle for selfhood in a similar manner to that found in Brecht's social plays.

The gestic quality of the language in Mud derives from Mae's attempts to find selfhood through discourse. She is one of the many characters in Fornes' plays whose essence is revealed through the desire to be initiated, to be taught about the “conduct of life.” The conduct of life does not, however, as in Brecht's plays have to do with an understanding of the inequities of a capitalist economy which make it difficult to become a “good person” but rather with the understanding of one's subjectivity, the expressive desire of the soul. Written texts represent Mae's desire for expression beyond the typical exchanges with Lloyd, “Fuck you, Mae. Fuck you, Lloyd” (18). When Henry enters their lives, Mae experiences a longing for beauty that differs from her original initiation into the language of “arithmetic” as “numbers” or “multiplication.” Mae from the beginning understands that language has a power that will prevent one from dying “in the mud,” as she insists that she will die in a hospital, “in white sheets,” with “clean feet” and with “injections” (19). However, until she listens to Henry saying grace, Mae has been incapable of addressing her subjectivity. The emotive power of the words of grace, “for he satisfies the longing soul, and fills the hungry soul with goodness,” feeds Mae's hunger, her craving for beauty. She says, “I am a hungry soul. I am a longing soul. I am an empty soul,” as the discourse of spirituality addresses her soul “so lovingly” (27).

For Mae language has to do with learning things that will make her “feel joyful” and allow her access to her own subjectivity. She says that she cannot “retain” words since she has no “memory,” nor enough knowledge “to pass the test” (26). However, she rejoices when she feels grace in her heart, and as she reads from her textbook with difficulty following the written words with the fingers of both hands, her reading is “inspired.” The gestic quality of Mae's clumsiness in coming to learn to read allows the spectator “to feel the physical process by which she tries to transform her world.”¹⁹ Though the passage she reads resembles the language of a biology textbook, Mae acquires an identity and even a corporeality as she reads:

The starfish is an animal, not a fish. He is called a fish because he lives in the water. The starfish cannot live out of the water. If he is moist and in the shade he may be able to live out of the water for a day. Starfish eat old and dead sea animals. They keep the water clean. A starfish has five arms like a star. That is why it is called a starfish. Each of the arms of the starfish has an eye in the end. These eyes do not look like our eyes. A starfish's eye cannot see. But they can tell if it is night or day. If a starfish loses an arm he can grow a new one. This takes about a year. A starfish can live five or ten years or perhaps more, no one really knows.

(27)

Identity for Mae is entirely connected in her “entry into discourse”;²⁰ she is moved by what language represents, in particular the associative and poetic powers that go beyond the mechanical prose of the elementary reading text. At first Henry appears to be the catalyst for Mae's attempts at fashioning her life text, since not only does Henry open up Mae's world to identification through speech, he also provides her with an image of herself when he brings her a lipstick and a mirror. This moment, as Marranca mentions, is not related to a cosmetic action “but a recognition of a self in the act of knowing, an objectification, a critique of the self.”²¹ The lipstick and mirror along with the self-demonstration of her gestic monologue reading of the starfish text allow Mae to refashion herself and liberate herself “from the representational limits within which she has been confined.”²²

Initially Mae associates the process of her emerging subjectivity with Henry; however, Henry's attitude towards language is entirely related to utility, not “joyfulness.” “I like to know things so I can live according to them, according to my knowledge” (26), he explains. In fact, Henry envisions a world where everything “will be used only once” since “our time will be of value and it will not be feasible to spend it caring for things.” For Mae a world in which one would make “a call on the telephone and a new one would be delivered” would have no place for her because in that world “a person must be of value.” In the rather naive vision of Henry's world Mae sees herself as “hollow” and “offensive.” “Why is it that you can talk, Henry, and Lloyd cannot talk?” she asks and, craving entry into the world that will provide “clean sheets,” “injections” and discardable clothes, appliances and cars, she invites Henry to live with them (24), hoping that his presence will make her feel less stupid, less as if living “like a dog” (28). What Mae does not understand is that both Henry's discourse of “grace” and his discourse on the utopian future conceal ignorance, selfishness and crudity. Once Henry loses his language through a crippling stroke, however, he becomes a slobbering, demanding, stealing brute. Disenchanted with the ugliness around her, Mae tells Lloyd, “Kill him if you want. He can't talk straight anymore” (34).

While Henry sees his identity related to knowledge and language, Lloyd sees his identity as something stripped down to a bare functional level: “I'm Lloyd. I have two pigs. My mother died. I was seven. My father left. He is dead. This is money. It's mine. It's three nickels. I'm Lloyd. That's arithmetic” (18). Yet when he perceives his mate has replaced him with Henry, Lloyd begins to identify with Mae's reading about the hermit crab who “lives in empty shells that once belonged to other animals” (29). Though his motivation is to get back his place in Mae's bed, Lloyd, unlike Henry, understands that Mae's “inspired” reading of the starfish text suggests a mysterious event he cannot comprehend. Surreptitiously he takes Mae's textbook and attempts to trace the letters of “starfish” one by one, so that in the process of reading the text, he may ultimately “read” Mae. Upon her return Mae recognizes that Lloyd is making an attempt at possessing her, and “she takes the book and holds it protectively” telling him “don't mess my book” (36). The gesture of protecting her book also announces Mae's desire for holding on to her own text, as if the textbook “articulates her bodied subjectivity.”²³

Ultimately Mae finds herself in a world in which everything has turned bad. Henry, reduced to a mere functioning individual, betrays her not only because he can no longer provide stimulation for her spirit but also because he steals Mae's hard-earned money as a way of getting back at Lloyd. The “grace” Mae envisioned as part of Henry's presence is undermined by his lack of charity towards Lloyd. A reversal in characterization occurs as Henry is reduced to a functional existence, wherein his potency imposes a demand on Mae that does not differ from the demand that Lloyd imposes at the beginning of the play, “I'll fuck you till you're blue in the face” (17). At the same time Lloyd, having discovered a more mysterious, unfamiliar Mae, also demands his rights to her. In desperation Mae “looks up at the sky” asking “can't I have a decent life?” as she gets the empty box to pack her things. Both Lloyd and Henry frame her as they protest “but I love you, Mae.” But Mae wants to go to a place “where the two of you are not sucking my blood” (39). As Lloyd shouts and Henry makes plaintive sounds, Mae departs, but not for long. Lloyd takes the rifle. A shot is heard, and Lloyd reappears carrying the dying Mae, assuring Henry “she's not leaving” (40). As Geis explains, Mae's death occurs before she is “fully able to find the realm of language she has been seeking”;²⁴ however, her dying speech shows that she can go beyond her identification with the starfish of her textbook to her own associative and poetic powers: “Like the starfish, I live in the dark and my eyes see only a faint light. It is faint and yet it consumes me. I long for it. I thirst for it. I would die for it. Lloyd, I am dying” (40).

In interviews on her approach to theater Fornes insists that her plays are not message oriented: “They are not Idea Plays. My plays do not present a thesis, or at least, let us say, they do not present a formulated thesis. One can make a thesis about anything (I could or anyone could formulate one).” Fornes does not want to create a world on stage invested with obvious moral imperatives and comments that if she were limited to writing plays to make points about women, she would feel that she would be working under “some sort of tyranny of well-meaning.” Fornes' attempt to subvert meaning is evident in what she has to say about the suppression of her authorial voice. “One play of mine has about three endings,” she writes. “These are almost-endings, and they do not have that total satisfaction of a real ending.” Her approach to playwrighting is based on an intuitive arrangement of “those things that have some relation—again, I do not even know why I consider that they are related—and put them together.” She describes the process of writing as accidental and writes on note cards which she arranges according to feelings for colors or other rather subjective criteria. Consequently, Fornes is surprised when “people put so much emphasis on the deliberateness of a work. I do not trust deliberateness. When something happens by accident, I trust that the play is making its own point.” Similarly, Fornes feels that the spectator should experience meaning through an accidental encounter with her plays because something is happening “that is very profound and very important.” She clearly distrusts a one-sided reading and the power of ideological interpretation:

People go far in this thing of awareness and deliberateness; they go further and further. They go to see a play, and they do not like it. So someone explains it to them, and they like it better. How can they possibly understand it better, like it better, or see more of it because someone has explained it?²⁵

Ultimately, however, Fornes' protests with regard to her subjective approach to drama are not entirely convincing. When one examines both the attention to the gender positioning of Mae in Mud as well as the socioeconomic determinants that shape all three characters, it becomes evident that the play projects a very clear notion of the situation and the outcome. As Catherine A. Schuler mentions, perhaps Fornes is being deliberately disingenuous when she insists that her work is more devoted to form rather than content, and her conviction that hostile responses to her work are the “inevitable result of her continuing desire to engage in radical experiments with form” seem somewhat naive.²⁶ From what is known of her method as the director of virtually all of her plays, Fornes has a very clear notion about both the aesthetics and message of her plays. Her feminism is evident in her emphasis that “what is important about [Mud] is that Mae is the central character. It says something about women's place in the world, not because she is good or a heroine, not because she is oppressed by men … but simply because she is the center of that play.” She goes on to say that “it is because of that mind, Mae's mind, a woman's mind, that the play exists.”²⁷ Ultimately one could say that Fornes' theory, or seeming lack of theory, pose problems and contradictions that reflect similar conflicts that are found in Brecht's theory and practice. While Brecht preached ideological commitment and practiced subjectivity, Fornes preaches subjectivity while practicing a very discerning commitment to exploring problems of gender hierarchy and exposing the dehumanization of women reduced by male brutality and violence.

Fornes, as both dramatist and director of her plays, has stripped away the self-conscious objectivity, narrative weight and behaviorism of conventional theater to concentrate on the unique subjectivity of characters for whom language is purely gestural. In order to concentrate on the unique life of her characters, Fornes feels that characters should have a separate existence without the burden of serving a plot. At the same time Fornes uses dialogue in particularly subversive ways to demonstrate that the voice of the characters does not originate from pristine selfhood but reflects them as social beings and presents, similarly to Brecht, “the domain of attitudes which characters have in relation to each other.”²⁸ She makes distinctions, however, between gestures that serve plot and those that enunciate the “mechanics of the mind … the process of spiritual survival, a process of thought.”²⁹ When one reflects on the gestic nature of Fornes' Mud, on the very Brechtian devices of the freeze frames and foregrounded theatricality and on the fact that Fornes' training came from the study of the techniques of the Method, a very significant relationship emerges. While the Method provides Fornes the means to portray the internal, subjective realm of characters such as Mae, attention to Brechtian techniques, particularly to the Gestus, demonstrates the social significance of the gender relationships within the play. Janelle Reinelt's observations on the relationships between feminist theater and Brecht's theatrical practices indicate that “both Brecht and feminism posit a subject-in-process, the site of multiple contradictions and competing social practices, where concrete political change may coalesce, if not originate.”³⁰

Fornes, like Brecht, withholds the assimilation of the various “enunciators” of the stage into a coherent whole, choosing instead to “suspend the identification between drama and its staging.”³¹ For the same reason, Fornes refuses to engage the characters in the seamlessness of traditional narrative to the extent “where the characters themselves seem at times too oblivious to the ‘story’ that they are supposed to be in.”³² That so many of her plays in addition to Mud, among them Dr. Kheal, Tango Palace, The Danube and Fefu and Her Friends, to one degree or another deal with the acquisition of language, suggests her consistent interest in the relationship of language to thought to action.³³ Ultimately Fornes' theater is a theater about utterance, a metatheater and a theater about the disfavored. At the same time, the gestural quality of discourse in plays like Mud places Fornes into the foreground of feminist theater that may be linked to Brecht and may also provide a means of questioning Brecht.

Notes

1. Andrzej Wirth, “Vom Dialog zum Diskurs: Versuch einer Synthese der nachbrechtschen Theaterkonzepte,” Theater heute 1 (1980): 16.

2. Marc Silberman, “A Postmodern Brecht?” Paper presented at the Eighth Symposium of the International Brecht Society in Augsburg, December 12, 1991, forthcoming in Theatre Journal (Spring 1993).

3. Bertolt Brecht, Brecht on Theatre, ed. and trans. John Willet (New York: Hill and Wang, 1964) 191.

4. Herbert Blau, The Audience (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991) 212.

5. Elin Diamond, “Brechtian Theory/Feminist Theory: Toward a Gestic Feminist Criticism,” The Drama Review 32.1 (1988): 82-83.

6. Ibid. 91.

7. See Brecht on Theatre, 142.

8. Patrice Pavis, Languages of the Stage: Essays in the Semiology of Theatre (New York: Performing Arts Journal Publications, 1982) 45.

9. See Blau 8.

10. Brecht on Theatre, 98.

11. Bonnie Marranca, “The Real Life of Maria Irene Fornes,” Theater-writings (New York. Performing Arts Journal Publications, 1984) 72.

12. Deborah R. Geis, “Wordscapes of the Body: Performative Language as Gestus in Maria Irene Fornes's Plays,” Theatre Journal 42.3 (1990): 293.

13. Jill Dolan, The Feminist Spectator as Critic (Ann Arbor/London: UMI Research Press, 1988) 109.

14. Maria Irene Fornes, Mud, in Plays (New York: Performing Arts Journal Publications, 1986) 21-22; all subsequent references from Mud will be cited within the text.

15. See Geis 299.

16. See Wirth 16-18.

17. Marranca 69.

18. See Franz Xavier Kroetz, Weitere Aussichten: Ein Lesebuch (Cologne: Kiepenheuer & Witsch, 1976) 519-526.

19. See Geis 300.

20. See Dolan 109.

21. Marranca 70.

22. Geis 301.

23. Ibid.

24. Ibid. 301.

25. Maria Irene Fornes, “I Write These Messages That Come,” The Drama Review 21.4 (1977): 25-40.

26. Catherine A. Schuler, “Gender Perspectives and Violence in the Plays of Maria Irene Fornes and Sam Shepard,” Modern American Drama: The Female Canon, ed. June Schlueter (Rutheford/Madison/Teaneck: Farleigh Dickinson University Press, 1990) 218-219.

27. Kathleen Betsko and Rachel Koenig, Interviews with Contemporary Women Playwrights (New York: Beech Tree Books, 1987) 166.

28. Brecht, quoted by Roswitha Mueller in “Montage in Brecht,” Theatre Journal 39.4 (1987): 473.

29. Maria Irene Fornes, in an interview with Bonnie Marranca in Performing Arts Journal 2.3 (1977): 107.

30. Janelle Reinelt, “Rethinking Brecht: Deconstruction, Feminism, and the Politics of Form,” Essays on Brecht: The Brecht Yearbook 15 (Madison: The International Brecht Society, 1990) 106.

31. W. B. Worthen, “Still Playing Games: Ideology and Performance in the Theater of Maria Irene Fornes,” Feminine Focus, ed. Enoch Brater (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989) 168.

32. See Geis 294.

33. See Marranca 72.