Characters from then 4 – column

The main livelihood in northern France? Those are euros. And those euros are generously provided via Brussels. Edu lives on it. We first met him about ten years ago. He lives in an inexplicably inhabited tenement outside a small village. No gas, water or electricity. There is a large antique wood-burning stove in the garden. Edu poaches and rumbles.

Outside of the ruin with his basic equipment, he has two shotguns. One juxaposé example with the barrels next to each other, a superposé with the barrels under each other and an FN pistol that was known to the Dutch officers in the fifties that the thing was good for a free throw if the case were to go again. blocked. Moreover, Edu has access to the mother of all Honda CB 175s.

Its range is about thirty kilometers around its cave. That is enough. The Honda can't handle much more either. When we see each other, the standard deal is that we provide four bottles of red wine. Two bottles for the poached roast. And two for the cook while cooking. This time, to celebrate our ten-year friendship, we had scored a magnificent bottle of cognac. Via Wally, who trades in distilled spirits and cigarettes without bands. Wally drives a very neat Harley-Davidson from his small winnings. Four cut cognac glasses were acquired at the Kringloop. Old, stylish and yet only two duppies each. Edu was genuinely happy to see us. Mainly because two bottles plus two bottles through us always equals five bottles.

Only yesterday he had put a pig's leg the size of a middle-class dog out of his misery. Roaming around in a forest must be unbearable for such an animal. It would be swine. Edu went to stoke up his colossal Flinstone stove with whole pieces of Ardennes, decapitated the first bottle of wine with a bang on the edge of that stove. We walked around for a while until dinner time. The meal was as always: simple, honest and delicious. With self-shot forest mushrooms over the euthanized piglet. After the meal we conjured up the mega bottle of twenty-one star cognac and the glasses.

Edu picked up a glass. Visibly dreamed away and burst into a deafening snotter. When he was okay again, we carefully asked him what and why. Edu said he was from a good family. Had been married once. Such glasses were just as ever in his wife's turnout.

He had run over his son in a drunken stupor. Had a blackout. When he came out of the hospital, read 'the institution', he was a pariah for his family. His wife and two children were gone. His wife had filed for and received a divorce. The efforts of her wealthy family had precipitated that action.

Edu never saw his family again. We realized once again how dangerous cars were and are. Pour again. Toast to our sad friend Édouard de Beauraing. He smiled again.

RIP: Édouard de Beauraing, 1962 / 2012