Ivan Shamyakin: an orthodox communist and a Belarusian patriot to the core. Alcohol, ideology, parcels from Moscow: how could this be combined?

Niniel Shchasnaya. In snowy winters. Portrait of writer Ivan Shamyakin. From the collections of the National Art Museum of Belarus. Fragment.

A Pistol in the Desk

Ivan Shamyakin's old age was not joyful. In the early 1990s, his 41-year-old son, Aliaksandr, tragically died. «It's a misfortune when there's no money, but an even greater misfortune happens when children know it's there and can get it, using maternal or paternal love,» Shamyakin wrote bitterly.

Sasha studied to be a geologist, worked at the Institute of Engineering Surveys, but «took an extra shot.» He suffered from insomnia, combining his medication with alcohol, which led to a fatal end. This hit Maria Filataŭna hard; she lost interest in life and went to the Northern Cemetery almost daily.

The Soviet Union collapsed, inflation devoured deposits and savings. 90 thousand Soviet rubles «burned up» in Shamyakin's savings account. For comparison: the average salary in cities in 1985 was 200 rubles; the most expensive car, the «Volga,» cost 11,200 rubles from 1983.

The People's Writer, who for 45 years had grown accustomed to the care and support of the state, was disoriented. On the one hand, material wealth vanished; on the other, the clear scheme of interaction with the authorities was broken. The Belarusian language, so dear to the writer, was driven into a corner.

In Soviet times, Broŭka, Tank, and Shamyakin managed to defend the language: «They squeezed out something: publishing houses, magazines, a resolution on book trade, criticism of ministers of education, culture, «Belsakuz,» and then they feared criticism from above — from the Central Committee.

At any rate, despite the undeniably abnormal situation with the language, none of us feared that «Polymia,» «Nioman,» «Maladosts» wouldn't be published tomorrow. That would have been an emergency; heads would have rolled for that. But now such a threat hangs, and no one cares…»

Confusion, pessimism, and anger can be read in his last works, written during Lukashenka's time—»Satanic Tour,» «The Fall,» «The Governor.»

Once, at a meeting of the Writers' Union council, old Shamyakin came with a string bag full of bundles of banknotes: he had picked up some fee. And so he sat, with a pile of devalued money on his lap.

In his diaries, he recalled how after the war, he and his wife, a teacher and a feldsher, bought a goat out of great poverty. The same thing happened in the 1990s: «We started with a goat — we're ending with a goat.»

Shamyakin's pessimism, however, did not descend into hopelessness; he was a great lover of life: «I'm afraid to drink, but I want to. My state of mind, my mood, demands it. I want to live! Life hasn't bored me. I love it, life.

Павялічыць

The house at Kamsamolskaya 23, overlooking the KGB, where the Shamyakins received their first separate apartment with a study

We were sitting at a festive evening at BSU with Ivan Chyhrynau. The topic of apartment robberies came up. I said: «One needs to have a pistol.» Ivan replied: «I don't want a pistol… You might shoot yourself.» It shook me. Does a person really think of such an end? Here it is, my pistol, within reach, in the desk drawer. But that terrible thought never occurred to me—not in any moments of despair, grief, or pain.»

After his wife's death, Shamyakin surrendered that awarded pistol. The relationship with his wife and his attitude towards her—more on that below.

«Cunning Minachka»

Shamyakin's grandfather, Mina Vasilievich, worked like an ox his whole life to escape poverty in a wooded corner between Homiel and Navazybkaŭ—right on the Russian border. Even more ephemeral than now, for some time it even divided the paternal courtyard in two.

Due to his sharp character, the grandfather was called «Cunning Minachka.» He was the first in the family with the surname Shamiaka—his children and grandchildren then became Shamyakins. (In eastern Belarus, surnames were established later than in the west, and Russian authorities massively changed Shamiaks to Shamyakins, Masheraus to Masheravs, and Mazurys to Mazurovs.)

And the surname, according to family legend, was brought from the Tsar's army by Mina's elder brother, Pimen Vasilievich. He returned from military service with a government paper in which he was somehow listed as Shamiaka. And the great-grandfathers were still called Charnaziomy. Such a surname was unique in the entire village of Karma, with seven hundred homesteads.

Shamyakin's mother had the rare name Synkleta; her father was the elder of Karma under the Tsar.

Relatives saw a resemblance between Ivan and his maternal grandfather, Stsyapan Kalinin, noting: «Just as pot-bellied and just as big-headed.» Meaning, solid and with practical intelligence.

After the revolution, the grandfather was not listed as an «exploiter,» because one of his sons, Aliaksei, organized a red partisan detachment during the Civil War and was killed in the back near his native home.

To get an idea of Shamyakin's childhood, one should read… «New Land.» The poem, written by Yakub Kolas, the son of a forester from the Neman region, accurately illustrated life even a generation later. The state was different, the system changed, the locality was 400 km from Kolas's, but the essence remained: relocations, poverty, frequent injustice from superiors. Shamyakin recalled how his forester uncles gathered and read the poem aloud, approvingly swearing at the author: «Oh, you snake! How did he spy on us!»

After the war, in Minsk, Shamyakin, despite the age difference, became close with Yakub Kolas. The young secretary of the Writers' Union was sent monthly to the lonely classic's mansion to collect membership fees. They would have a drink together, so much so that Shamyakin's wife eventually started to get noticeably nervous when he told her in the morning that his plans for the day included a visit to Kolas.

A Western near Dobruš

Ivan's father, Piatro Shamyakin, was a forester his whole life. Except for a period when he was transferred to a new plot, and the predecessor met the family at the doorstep with a rifle in hand and refused to leave. Shamyakin became a shopkeeper, but went bankrupt within a couple of months, gave a heifer as compensation, and asked to return to the forest.

Foresters in the 1930s lived more easily than collective farmers: one could keep a horse, for example. But there was also their own specificity. Piatro Shamyakin was lame: a poacher caught in the forest hit him with a cudgel, striking the rifle hanging on his shoulder, muzzle down. A double-barreled blast shattered the bones—his leg was miraculously saved.

A year later, the father was already shooting—saving a fellow forester from five poachers with axes. And he killed one. Fearing revenge, he sent his family to sleep at acquaintances' homes, each night in a new place, while he himself sat in the attic with an Austrian trophy rifle, awaiting an attack…

Wife as a Source of Images

The ideal Sasha Trayanava from «Unforgettable Spring,» the jealous Halina Yaraš from «Heart on a Palm»—his wife Maria Filataŭna was a source of images for Shamyakin.

Павялічыць

With his wife Maria Filataŭna and granddaughter Maryjka. Photo from the personal archive of Alesya Shamyakina.

He scattered mentions of his other infatuations and loves throughout his works. Most, he confessed, in «Anxious Happiness.»

There was a childhood crush on a teacher; in sixth grade, he kissed Mania, who was a year older, at a dance; later, he fell in love with another Marusya, came 14 kilometers for a date, and was disgraced by her fellow villagers… He studied in the same class as his future wife, Masha Krotava, in the village of Tsierukha. She was the only one who didn't laugh when the young Ivan, who had grown out his hair, was shorn with sheep shears by the teacher in front of the whole class. Feelings between Ivan and Maria appeared later in Homiel, at the technical college: he studied road engineering, she studied medicine.

After college, Masha worked as a feldsher in the Rechytsa district, and Ivan visited her. She called him her cousin, but people understood everything. Soon they married, and their daughter Lina was born.

There was also an adultery in Shamyakin's biography, which he candidly wrote about in his diaries. During wartime, Shamyakin, like Bykaŭ, was an artilleryman. He was a bit luckier: he became an anti-aircraft gunner—still not head-on with German tanks.

Shamyakin, a gun commander and Komsomol organizer, had a «relationship with a subordinate,» which the battery commander quickly ended. During a leave, Ivan confessed to his wife. She immediately moved to another bed. And for a long time, she couldn't forgive. But she still loved him: «Where will I find another fool like him?»

They lived more than half a century, soul to soul.

This didn't exclude outbursts of jealousy, during which his wife might push him off the bed, hit him with something (soft), or burn letters from an admirer of his work. The outbursts were unfounded: that wartime story, Shamyakin confessed, taught him a lifelong lesson.

Ivan Piatrovich outlived his wife by six years; her passing was his greatest tragedy.

The communist Shamyakin titled his memoir about Maria Filataŭna in a Gospel-like manner: «Hail, Mary!»

Maria Filataŭna was as practical a person as Shamyakin himself

She went with her husband to the Congress of the CPSU in Moscow and, while he was raising his mandate in the hall, stocked up at a special shop for deputies—there was a shortage of everything in the USSR—and sent the purchases to Minsk by parcel—as you couldn't carry them all by hand.

«Three weeks after the holiday and an injury with a plastered arm, I went to the XXVI Congress of the CPSU. I went with Masha; I was allowed to, as without her, I couldn't yet dress myself or tie a tie. The Congress lasted about nine days, it seems, and I still remember how agonizing it was to sit there—with a throbbing, aching arm, listening to the adulation for Brezhnev.

And there he was before me—the «leader,» «great and wise.» But in reality—an old, sick man. He read the report—he stammered, stumbled, swallowed words, dripped with sweat.

As a human, I felt sorry for Leonid Ilyich: man, what the hell do you need this for?

After the first break, Brezhnev weakened completely, swayed behind the podium, and half an hour later asked for another break. In the corridors, they discussed who would continue the report. No. Brezhnev again. And how he revived. He got a 'doping.' He finished the report on a high note, cheerfully. A detail. Next to me, in the aisle seat, sat the People's Artist of the USSR, Nalbandyan, and he was drawing Brezhnev the whole time, made about 20 sketches. He tried hard!

It was painful for me to listen to the boring speeches. And Masha was bored at the hotel. True, she had a small, pleasant occupation. In the hotel, a trade fair for souvenirs and products was organized for the delegates. The goods were mostly imported. The products sold there were excellent. And all without markups, in the most beautiful souvenir packaging.

In the foyer—a post office with an unusual, for us, system for receiving parcels: special plywood boxes, adhesive tape. Packing—three to four minutes. A conveyor belt.»

«On the first day, Masha informed me that she had sent as many as four parcels.

I was horrified:

— What?! What will people say about us?

— A lady in sables, from Siberia, boasted loudly that she had sent twenty parcels. She's not afraid of what people will say.»

«How much deceit, how much falsehood there was! Was there? And now there isn't? Then they bought loyalty with food parcels. Now, supporters of the regime are bought with companies, factories, shops, cottages. It's bitter to think about this,» Ivan Shamyakin wrote in his diary at the end of his life.

Turn faster, Piatrovich!

«It's a paradox: I can convincingly write about a plowman, a locksmith, an architect, and a doctor, but I myself can't do anything, can't even hammer a nail to hold well,» Shamyakin confessed. He, like Solzhenitsyn or Shalamov, perceived hard physical labor as an insult to a person who works with their mind.

In the post-war scarcity, Shamyakin, a young teacher, received grain as his ration, which had to be ground by hand. They didn't have millstones, so they went to the peasants, his students' parents. «They watched the teacher sweating, and—what were they thinking? The host smiled: 'Turn faster, Piatrovich!' It seemed to me that such an activity, more than anything else, undermined both the teacher's authority and the authority of the party organization's secretary.»

But Shamyakin was not a clumsy romantic. His extreme gentleness, humanity, and empathy were combined with practicality, an understanding of what was needed for life. Ivan Piatrovich, disinclined to conflicts, sentimental and quick to tears, managed to secure the best possible living conditions for his family in Minsk, providing apartments and cars for his children.

As for hammering nails—one can call a carpenter. As long as there's something to pay with.

Plunged into 'abundance'

«We arrived in Minsk in August 1948 and plunged into izobilie (abundance). How many different kinds of sausages there were! Krakowska, Poltavska, Moskovska… Caviar, fish, crabs—eat as much as you want. With the 1,200 rubles of scholarship I received at the party school, the four of us could live comfortably,» Shamyakin wrote.

Overall, his memoirs, which he began publishing in the 1980s, caused a sensation with their frankness. Before him, no one had written so openly about alcohol, colleagues, or property.

The «social lift» for the prosaist, who had published the novel «Revenge» and was preparing the novel «Deep Current» for publication, became the Higher Party School. He entered there on the recommendation of the Writers' Union and met a lifelong friend there, Andrey Makaionak.

In one of the biographies of the famous playwright, it is written that he «sent half of his scholarship to his relatives, and survived on the other half.» Surviving on half of a 1,200 ruble scholarship, with an average teacher's salary of 600, was not difficult. Bread cost 3 rubles, a bottle of «Moskovskaya» about 60. Collective farmers, however, worked practically for free at that time.

Павялічыць

Ivan Shamyakin's desk. The writer's daughter preserved the atmosphere of her father's study.

Addresses

Arriving in Minsk with his family, Shamyakin with difficulty rented a small room on Lahoiski Trakt, in the private sector: Minsk was bombed, housing was scarce. All of Ivan and Maria's possessions consisted of one iron bed. In 1950, they were allocated two rooms in a four-room apartment at the beginning of Marx Street—24 square meters. The other half of the apartment was occupied by the family of prosaist Aliaksei Kulakoŭski. On those 24 square meters, six people lived: the Shamyakins at that time already had three children, and his wife's sister-student also lived with them.

A year later, the city council granted Shamyakin, a Stalin Prize laureate for «Deep Current,» a separate three-room apartment on Kamsamolskaya Street, opposite the entrance to the Dzerzhinsky Club. It was a rather low first floor, from whose windows passersby were fully visible, including their legs. But the apartment had a separate study and a separate kitchen. They acquired decent furniture, an oak wardrobe.

In 1953, the Shamyakins moved again—this time to Marx Street, to the «writers' house» No. 36. «An apartment of 72 sq. m., four rooms. The stove in the kitchen was wood-fired; they carried firewood up to the fourth floor, and yet—it was a luxury, even by today's standards,» Shamyakin recalled.

Павялічыць

The 'Writers' House' at Marx, 36, built thanks to the friendship of Yakub Kolas and the all-powerful author of 'The Young Guard,' Faddeev

It is said that that house was built thanks to Yakub Kolas. He married his son to Yanka Maur's daughter, and the question of living space for the young couple arose. Not a single kopek from the BSSR budget went towards the house; it was fully funded by the all-Union Litfond (a subdivision of the Writers' Union responsible for material support to artists), spending two million rubles. At that time, the Writers' Union of the USSR was headed by Alexander Fadeev, a friend of Yakub Kolas.

The house was built according to a typical design: the writers' house in Moscow had exactly the same layout—two apartments per landing, a three-room and a four-room apartment. Two stairwells were allocated to writers—and even then, a couple of military and police officials ended up there.

On the same landing as Shamyakin lived Mielezh; below—Hliebka and Vitka; above—Bryl and Skryhan.

In 1964, Mielezh moved to a larger apartment on Lenin Street, in the building above the then-restaurant «Potsdam» (now Grand Cafe). Ivan Naŭmienka's family moved into his apartment and still lives there. And Kolas's descendants, by the way, still live at Marx, 36.

Cough behind the wall

Shamyakin recalled how, living on Marx Street, he heard Ivan Mielezh's dull cough behind the wall. The author of «Polissya Chronicle» had diseased lungs, which prematurely sent him to his grave. «We began with the sincerest friendship,» Shamyakin remembered of his peer. How they ended—he doesn't write, but one can infer from episodic mentions. Shamyakin only notes that Mielezh was a complex person, who didn't appreciate his «Atlantas and Caryatids»—»the most read novel of the 1970s»… Perhaps there was also ordinary male and creative rivalry here:

Mielezh received the Lenin Prize for «Polissya Chronicle»; Shamyakin later aimed for the State Prize with his Leniniana novel «Petrograd—Brest.»

Shamyakin interestingly describes the process of creating fiction in the 1970s. Having conceived of writing a novel about an architect, he spent three years attending meetings of the architectural council, collegiums of Gosstroy (State Construction Committee), and got acquainted with the chief architects of Brest, Homiel, and Mahilioŭ. To the main character, architect Maksim Karnach, the author gave the traits of Andrey Makaionak. In fact, the idea for «Atlantas and Caryatids» arose from the desire to «characterize» his friend.

Based on the novel, an eight-episode film was shot in the late 1970s.

The total circulation of Shamyakin's books exceeded 25 million copies! This was truly mass literature.

Павялічыць

The total circulation of Ivan Shamyakin's books exceeded 25 million copies. Shamyakin's meeting with readers (male and female). Photo from Alesya Shamyakina's personal archive.

Павялічыць

Photo svaboda.org.

Prytytski's Apartment

In the late 1950s, the Shamyakins acquired, in addition to a summer house in the Homiel region, in Tsierusa, a dacha in Ždanovičy.

They managed to secure plots by catching an official's word: he was justifying at a party meeting the dachas that the Ministry of Construction was building for «necessary people»—allegedly, they would be for writers and scientists. As a result, Shamyakin and Mielezh received neighboring plots.

And in 1969, 48-year-old Shamyakin moved into his last apartment: in the house on Yanka Kupala Street, 11. That apartment was previously occupied by Sergei Prytytski, Chairman of the Presidium of the Supreme Soviet of the BSSR. It was even larger, the house more convenient for living—with an elevator. There was no better housing in Minsk at that time.

Павялічыць

The Shamyakins received the apartment in the house on Yanka Kupala, 11 in 1969. Before that, Sergei Prytytski lived there.

In the Soviet Union, in cities, apartments were most often not bought but received from the state. Apartments were small. Only the elite could count on housing with a total area greater than 70 square meters. There were only a few dozen apartments of 100 square meters in all of Minsk. The highest party leaders lived in prestigious houses in the city center, and their apartments even had small rooms for servants. Housing in these multi-story buildings on Yanka Kupala, Pulikhava, Chyrvonajaarmiejskaja streets, on Vajskovy and Braniavy lanes still costs astronomically expensive. Private mansions in Minsk at that time were owned only by individual generals and, for workshops, especially distinguished artists.

In the last decades of his life, Shamyakin could often be seen on «Infarctenstrasse»—an alley in Gorky Park where many distinguished pensioners strolled.

What if Shamyakin had lived not under socialism, but under capitalism?

He would have been a millionaire. Perhaps without flashy accolades and orders, but he would have given even the Dobsons, creators of «Santa Barbara,» a run for their money. Imagine: 1977, Belarusian People's Republic. Every evening, thousands of housewives drop everything and sit in front of their «Nioman» televisions to watch the 375th episode of «Anxious Happiness»…

Though Shamyakin himself, of course, wouldn't have dreamt of such a thing even in his wildest nightmares.

«Pobeda» and «Volga»

Receiving the Stalin Prize in 1951, 25 thousand rubles for «Deep Current,» Shamyakin bought a «Pobeda» automobile. He didn't have a driver's license, and for almost three years, the family employed a driver who shamelessly robbed the trusting prosaist, extorting money for the elimination of some mythical breakdowns in the new car.

He profited so much that he built himself a house in a short time, until Ivan Piatrovich himself got his license. It wasn't difficult to pass: the examiner turned out to be an ardent admirer of his work. They talked about «Deep Current» during the exam.

He drove to Odesa with his family in the car, to a holiday home. Also,

living in Tsierusa in the summer, where the food situation was «not the best,» the Shamyakins regularly traveled 240 kilometers to Kyiv to shop: «They got used to living richly in Minsk; Masha denied the children nothing.»

Parking was not a problem in almost car-less Minsk then, and the Central Committee garages were nearby—on the site of the current «Pioneer» cinema.

Shamyakin's «Pobeda» was ruined by Usevalad Kraŭchanka, a writer who later mysteriously died in France by throwing himself from a hotel window. Kraŭchanka borrowed the car for a trip to the Kalinkavičy district and deliberately, Shamyakin suspected, out of some envy for his creative successes, smashed it on the roads of that time…

In 1957, Shamyakin acquired a «Volga» from a trial batch—the first in Belarus. Soviet limousines had just begun production then; even the BSSR Council of Ministers' fleet didn't have them yet. A new «Volga» in 1957 cost 17,400 rubles with an average salary of 750.

Cossacks were carousing

«And what a miracle Armenian vintage cognacs are!»—Shamyakin describes Soviet-era drunkenness as an integral part of life.»

An apocryphal story circulated that Maria Filataŭna always had four chickens roasting in the oven, because Ivan could show up with guests at any moment.

Makaionak came every Sunday—his wife reproached him that he had become dearer to Ivan than she was. But, to Shamyakin's credit, his neighbors never once saw him swaying or collapsing.

Павялічыць

Andrey Makaionak. Photo svaboda.org.

Andrey Makaionak was Shamyakin's best friend. And no less wealthy: playwrights received astronomical fees from every performed play. There wasn't much to spend money on, besides restaurants. The choice of goods in the USSR was limited. And building cottages was not accepted among communists; it was considered immodest, and for that, one could even «lay their party card on the table.»

For his ability to drink, he was once praised by Alexander Tvardovsky, the editor of «Novy Mir.»

Shamyakin recalled a terrible drinking bout with him in a Moscow hotel. Tvardovsky drowned his conscience with three bottles of vodka: at that time, Boris Pasternak was being vilified, and Tvardovsky traveled to collect signatures condemning the novel «Doctor Zhivago.»

And on his 60th birthday, which coincided with the conferment of the title Hero of Socialist Labor, Shamyakin broke his arm after the banquet. Whether he was drunk or not—it's described differently in various memoir books.

Павялічыць

Exclusive gift from compatriots: a dinnerware set—of questionable taste—with the initials «ІПШ» (IPS), made at the Dobruš Porcelain Factory for Shamyakin's 60th birthday. Photo from private archive.

Why did the people and its elite drink so much in the USSR? Perhaps from the terrible boredom and dullness of life? Westerners, upon arriving in Moscow, noted that there was simply nothing to do in their free time. Lee Harvey Oswald, by the way, complained about the same thing in Minsk.

There were also bright feasts. The daughter of prosaist Ivan Naŭmienka, Valeryia Ivanaŭna, recalls such an episode from her childhood: «Early February 1964, I was five years old. Suddenly my mother disappeared somewhere. Later they told me she was in the maternity hospital; my brother Paviel was born. We had just moved into an apartment on Marx Street, and Dad called the neighbors. The only furniture in the kitchen was a table and stools. And so, four Ivans—Yan Skryhan, Ivan Shamyakin, Yanka Bryl, and my dad—sat until ten in the morning, snacking on salted russula mushrooms and talking and talking…» Each had something to remember: war, front, captivity, Gulag—in Skryhan's case.

Shamyakin, who entered literature after the war, was outside the old scores of the older writers. He was still young in the 1930s, when some writers, to save themselves, denounced others—yesterday's comrades. And he had equal relations with Broŭka and Krapiva, Skryhan and Biarozkin.

Over a drink, he recalled, what kind of sedition they and their friends didn't talk about. And they weren't afraid: they believed that they had earned the right to speak during the war. True, in conversations with strangers, Shamyakin was always cautious.

Abused Talents

«The enormous crime of the Soviet regime against Belarusian culture—it abused talents. How many wrote for the needs of the day, those same Kuliashoŭ, Broŭka! How many glorified communists!»—said historian Anatol Sidarievich.»

Yakub Kolas called this eulogizing, which crossed the bounds of decency and taste, «bryndushki» (trivialities/flatteries). Entire volumes of topical-ephemeral works are morally outdated today.

Shamyakin was proud that in the 10‑12 volumes he wrote, there wasn't even a paragraph of «panegyrics» and «syrup» that some of his colleagues poured for the party.

Nevertheless, many of Shamyakin's excellently crafted plots are not perceived today, because it is difficult to break through the Soviet-party reality.

Павялічыць

Sofa in the study. Shamyakin died on it. From April to September 2004, he lay in the Lechkomissia (Medical Commission/Sanatorium) with Parkinson's disease. He was sent home to live out his final days. By the way, another people's artist, Ryhor Baradulin, suffered from the same disease. Photo from private archive.

Shamyakin remained a devoted communist until his last days, attending November 7th rallies as long as his legs would carry him, praising Prokhanov's journalism, and cursing Gorbachev with the harshest words. He genuinely didn't understand that the USSR was not at all dismantled by Gorbachev or the West; it fell under its own sins and decrepitude.

And at the same time, Shamyakin was a Belarusian patriot to the core. He could not forgive Masherau, whom he idolized, for Russification.

(Piatro Mironavich, who could recite «Tale of the Bald Mountain» by heart, was afraid to speak Belarusian even with People's Writers.)

Павялічыць

From left to right: Ivan Shamyakin, Ivan Mielezh, Piatro Masherau. From Larysa Mielezh's personal archive.

In 1995, Shamyakin—how difficult it was for this man to go against the authorities—condemned the referendum on language.

And there were quite a few such national-communists like Shamyakin.

Ivan Shamyakin was directly involved in the preservation of the nation and Belarusian independence. The Belarusian language itself survived in the second half of the 20th century thanks to mass literature. So there is a grain of truth in the joke about housewives and the TV series «Anxious Happiness.»

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