Finding Rene

A life sized statue of Jesus was staring right at me. He was showing me that His palms were pierced!

Flemish and Dutch Master oil paintings adorned the walls. The step to each confessional booth was worn through hundreds of years of use. What manner of sins have those little wooden booths heard?

Every nook and cranny was a shrine.

I was staring at the altar when Laura slipped her arm through mine and said, "I guess you don't see this in Canada."

"I've never seen anything like this before," I said to her, "it's amazing."

Looking up she smiled at me and slipped her fingers through mine. We continued walking around, checking each detail out for an hour at least. I couldn't help but check her out, too. Especially that one inch gap. The funny thing was that I was pretty well sure that she was checking me out, too. I think she had a fixation on my shoulders, neck and arms, but she also kept checking out my ass and crotch.

And I thought it was only guys that did that sort of thing.

As we walked out of the church and back into the daylight I said, "That was an alternate reality, wasn't it?"

"That was something else," she answered, as we slipped our hands together again and walked off.

"Different time and space altogether, wow," I mumbled.

"Surreal enough for you?" she asked.

"Absolutely," I answered as we walked the cobblestone streets, "but consider this, Laura," she looked up to me, "I'm living that Magritte painting we saw yesterday."

"The Assault?"

"Yes," I answered.

"How so?"

"Just think about the painting. It was a box of clouds," I waved my free hand in the air, "a brick building façade," my hand swept the visage of a nearby building, "and," I stopped and spun her towards me as my free hand brushed across her chest, "perfect nipples." I tilted my head down to kiss her.

We kissed.

She purred as we kissed.

When our lips parted, while looking straight into my eyes, she whispered, "I think I know why it was called the Assault."

"Why?" I whispered back and planted another kiss on her lips, this time our entwined fingers slipped apart as we combined into a full on public embrace.

Our lips parted, "Because I'm being assaulted right now," she said.

Astonished, my head lifted from hers, "Really? By me?" and then added, "How so?"

She smiled and hugged me a little tighter, "By you, by Rene, by Fate, I don't know. What I do know is that my entire life is being turned upside down, right now. At this very moment."

We kissed again. The cityscape, the passing bicycles and pedestrians, all of Bruges disappeared around me. There was only me and Laura at that moment. I don't know how long we kissed and embraced each other, but eventually I let her go and we resumed walking slowly, holding hands.

Only, I was walking on clouds. My heart was filled with joy. It was a feeling that was completely unexpected. I couldn't comprehend it at all.

New cultural delights opened up for us as we walked along, like a slow motion passing panorama. Eventually we found my little white Mercedes rental car, which jarred me back to reality. We drove it back to the apartment to pack up.

*****

"Put the cork back in and take it," she said as I was about to pour away a bottle of Beaujolais - Morgon minus exactly two glasses. "We can have that tonight, and you're correct, that is a very nice wine," she added.

She was right. "Where am I staying tonight?" I asked.

"At my mum and my zunt's," she looked shocked, "I'm sorry. If you're not comfortable," she paused for a second.

"Yeah, we've already done that sex with an audience thing," I couldn't help grinning.

"I'm sorry, I didn't think this through. We could just go on to my house."

"What in London? You said De Panne is a resort town, so, it must have resorts. Someplace we can rent for the night, right?"

"Hmm. You're right, but we're coming on to the high season. Let me call my mother." She pulled out her cell phone.

"Hi Mum, Yes. Bill and I, mmh, uh-ha, Listen Mum. Bill and I would like to stay in De Panne tonight, No. Not your fold-out. Any ideas?"

Laura covered the phone and whispered to me, "I think she understands."

"Oh, that would be wonderful," smiling brightly, Laura held a thumb up. "Okay, see you at one." She hung up the phone.

"She has the key to her friend's unit down the hall. He's away and we are free to use it."

"Wow, just like that." I said as I scooped her into my arms for a kiss. "I'm beginning to get a true appreciation for your mother," I said.

She scrunched her eyebrow at me.

"First she invites me to dinner with you, then connives to have you spend the night with me and now she's setting us up in a little love nest?"

"Got to love my mum," she said smiling, and then tilted up for a kiss.

"C'mon," I said, "let's pack up the car before it gets towed away."

We were out of town in no time. I simply followed the directions Laura was reading to me off of her cell phone GPS map.

I switched the radio on. Something foreign came on. I hit the search button. More nonsense. I hit search again.

The Belgian countryside is flat farmland. Flanders Fields. Two world wars were fought there. Waterloo isn't too far away. Road signs pointed to Dunkerque. A chill ran through my Canadian spine as we drove along.

I hit search again.

The fourth, the fifth

The minor fall, the major lift

The baffled king composing Hallelujah

"My god the perfect confluence of Canadian."

Hallelujah

"It's kd lang," Laura gleamed at me.

Hallelujah

"How do you know kd lang?"

Hallelujah

"Every woman with just a hint of lesbian and access to a radio in the English world knows kd lang," She looked at me funny then added, "What do you mean by a confluence of Canadian?"

Hallelujah

"kd lang, Canadian, singing Leonard Cohen, Canadian, singing Hallelujah in frikkin' Flanders Fields of all places in the world. Come on! Poppies are nearly our national flower. And as far as I know, they don't even grow in Canada." I shook my head.

The song played on.

"I love her voice," I said, "and this song."

"So do I," she answered.

We listened to the song as the countryside rolled by.

Baby I've been here before

I've seen this room and I've walked the floor

Used to live alone before I knew ya

But I've seen your flag on the marble arch

Our love is not a victory march

It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah...

"Are you crying?"

"No," I lied, rubbing a tear away from the sore spot on my cheek, "it's the power of the art."

Hallelujah...

*****

"We're a little ahead of schedule," Laura said as we pulled into a little seaside town, "do you want to stop and go for a stroll on the beach?"

"Sure," I answered and parked the car in front of a sand dune. It seemed there was a nature trail leading up the dune and the obligatory signage, in three languages of course. We kicked off our shoes and climbed up the path. On the other side of the dune we came face to face with a bleak reminder of Flanders blood soaked past. A WWII concrete pill box stood. It was built to protect the beach. Nazi, no doubt. It was ringed with barbed wire. The juxtaposition between the children playing in the sand below us and the grim relic in front of us struck me as something Rene Magritte might dream up.

Aside from a few children playing at the far side of the dune, the beach itself was desolate. In Bruges it was warm and sunny, here it was cool and overcast. The tide was out. A couple rode by on roan horses.

"There's something deeply satisfying with the seaside," she said as she looked out across the English Channel.

"I have to agree." I answered. "However, I tend to see a lot of ports and terminals, there's not so much call of the sea, Siren's song going on there."

"I can understand that. Nevertheless, I believe the sea has a profound psychological effect on human beings. Something changes in the presence of a large body of water, at least in me."

Me too! I smiled as I intertwined her fingers into mine. Yeah, like falling head over heels for a woman that lives on the other side of the Atlantic.

After a few minutes poking around, arm in arm we climbed back up the dune, past the pill box and back down to the parked car.

*****

"Stop!" Laura yelled, "There's a place that'll have swim suits." We were in a busy part of the main drag through one of a series of little towns. "Park there...just up there."

I did.

She had noticed, I didn't as I was driving, a potential store that may have a bathing suit for me. It was a busy little area. Between where I parked the car and the store, thirty yards or so behind me, there were a number of shops. Some of them could be classified as 'boutique'. The store we parked in front of had a bunch of sausage links hanging in the window. They actually looked very appetizing.

She paused at the window of a ladies shoe store.

Another one was a lingerie shop. My eyes widened at the window display. I looked at Laura. Her eyes were wide, too.

"You like?" I asked gazing at the mannequin with stay-up lace silk stockings, high heels and a matching black see-through teddy.

"Mmmnn... not sure." We walked on.

We reached the store that she was sure would have a bathing suit for me. It was kind of a beach shop. They had sun umbrellas, beach chairs, sun hats and more than likely, bathing suits.

"Go on inside," she said, "I'll meet you back at the motor in a few minutes." She pecked me on the cheek and ran off.

Motor?

"'Ello." I was greeted by the clerk as I walked into the store.

I could tell right away he was gay. He was about my age and about my height and weight. He had ear lobes that were non-existent, ears blending to the neck. His jaw-dental definition just slightly long and tight. His hairline, full but swept a bit funny and flecked with grey. Pants too tight and the eyes, forlorn and longing. Definitely gay.

Okay. Fine.

"Can I 'help you?" he asked with an accent.

"I need to buy a bathing suit." I answered.

"A swim suit?" he asked.

"Yes." I rolled my eyes.

His face lit up.

Oh shit.

He walked over to one side of the shop that was full of bathing, err... swim suits. I followed. He then slowly looked up and down my body while grinning from non-existent earlobe to non-existent earlobe. I felt like a piece of meat. He glanced to the side to look at my bum and then directly at my crotch, holding his gaze for just a tiny bit too long.

Oh, brother.

He pulled from a shelf what was basically a black male thong.

I looked at him as he smiled at me with a lecherous look in his face, "I'm sure you'll look fabulous in this."

"I'm not, wearing, fucking, panties." I said sternly. His eyes widened with each word. I pulled some decent swimming trunks off the shelf. I held a tan coloured pair that were more boxer in shape, with Velcro and draw strings.

Unfortunately there was no way they were going to fit. They were children's size.

Gay-man found a similar style with a frown on his face. They were neon green.

He held them in front of me, then deliberately touching my belly and stretching them out in front of me said, " I don't know if that is your colour though..." with mock concern in his eyes.

He was touching me!

The bathing suit seemed wide enough.

"Let's try it on, we've a room in the back." He cupped my bicep in his hand and gently twisted me around a hundred and eighty with a smile on his face.

Not a changing room like in any normal North American store. Just a room in the back. This fag wanted to lead me into the back of his store... and have me pull my pants off?

There was no fucking way!

"I'm sure these will fit, I'll just buy them." I shook his hand off my bicep.

I paid for the neon green bathing suit as he grinned the whole time with a 'you don't know what you're missing' demeanor.

I was back at the car before Laura was. I had already started the engine and was checking out the courtesy rental map as she stepped into the car. She had a bag with her that appeared to have a shoe box inside.

"Did you find a suit?" she asked.

"Yes. Did you get what you wanted?"

"More or less."

I leaned over to her with the map in my hand pointing to where I thought we were. I pointed to Koksijde. "How would you pronounce this?" I asked.

"I'm not sure... cock side?"

"Let's get the fuck out of here." I put the car in gear and we were gone. The sausage links disappeared in my rear mirror.

It suddenly dawned on me as we drove out of town the gay guy spoke English. In fact where I had been working in Oostend, everywhere in Bruges, and now in Koksijde, everyone I'd met spoke English. How very thoughtful and accommodating these Belgians were. Plus, everyone was pleasant. Gay guy, maybe a little too pleasant.

We continued on to De Panne. Laura showed me where to park between a couple of apartment buildings. The place was bustling with people, unlike Koksijde. And unlike Koksijde, De Panne was warm, almost hot. The sun was out. All very strange.

As if suddenly displaced from an airport lobby, we each rolled little black flight suitcases over the small paving stone boardwalk as we walked hand in hand. I had the shopping bag with my new bathing suit and a bottle and a half of superb French red wine and some uneaten chocolates wrapped around the handle, mimicking duty-free shopping. The bottles clinked together as we walked. My laptop bag was slung over my shoulder. It's a good thing that Laura knew where she was going.

De Witte Berg is an apartment building on the beach with a nice patio terrace outdoor restaurant. It was just a short walk down the boardwalk. We were there just a few minutes before one o'clock. There was a children's play area right in front of us. It was a riot of colours and sounds of children's laughter.

How surreal does it get? What was coming next? Melting clocks? I sat down and just about got myself comfortable when Georgette and Laura's aunt walked up to our table. Like the gentlemen I'm supposed to be, I immediately stood up again to greet them. Laura kissed both her mother and aunt on the cheek.

"Hi," I said holding out my hand, "I'm Bill Wycliffe."

"Marie."

"Nice to meet you and so nice to see you again Georgette."

We sat down to a table for four. Laura was to my left. Georgette facing me.

The two sisters sure looked similar. Nothing like Laura though. Both ladies were very pleasant, a little bit heavy. Marie had an accent, which I didn't really hear in Georgette's voice. I was guessing but couldn't be entirely sure that Marie was the elder of the two. Both ladies wore dresses in a gaudy floral pattern with shoes and purses to match. Both ladies had a similar bouffant of bluish, grey-white hair. Both ladies wore too much red lipstick and they had the same broad toothy smiles. Definitely sisters.

Laura told them we had a wonderful time last night. I tactfully thanked Georgette for inviting me to dinner last night and then setting us up on a date.

"And how did your date go?" Marie asked with a toothy smile.

"We had a grand time," Laura answered.

"We even landed up meeting some of the locals," I added with my own smile, "they wondered if we were newlyweds."

Laura was smirking.

Georgette was staring at my face with a concerned look. "Whatever happened to you?"

Laura answered for me. "He bumped into a doorframe last night and accidently slipped this morning."

"I'm all right," I smiled.

"Bonjour," said the pretty, young waitress with short, blonde hair.

I ordered 'Toast Cannibal,' Laura ordered the same. The two ladies both ordered 'Vissoep,' a fish soup. Frites of course, all around. The three ladies each had a glass of white wine and I had a glass of yet another unpronounceable Belgian beer.

"Georgette told me that my great uncle's namesake printed the first bible in English and started the Reformation." I said mainly to Marie, trying to politely start-up a conversation after the drinks arrived.

"That would be wrong on both counts," countered Marie. Her back straightened up.

"I certainly said no such thing!" Georgette quickly contradicted indignantly.

I looked to Laura, I know that my jaw had dropped. She started laughing.

What the hell...?

Georgette continued, "I've forgotten who it was that printed the first Bible in English, but it would certainly have happened after Gutenberg printed his, and that would have been in the mid fifteenth century."

"And Gutenberg's was in Latin," Marie added.

I just sat there with my mouth open. I'm sure with a stunned look on my face. By the looks on their faces, I could see that they were wondering if I was totally stupid.

All of a sudden I felt stupid.

"I said published, not printed."

Laura was giggling, I'm not sure if I looked relieved or still stunned.

"And it was Martin Luther that started the Reformation," concluded Georgette with that ring in her voice, happy to be back in school-marm mode again.

"That's when he posted his ninety five theses to the gate of the university he taught at," Marie interjected and then with a chuckle added, "at Wittenberg and here we are at De Witte Berg!"

Both Marie and Georgette spontaneously erupted into giggles with their heads turned to each other. Their heads were rotating, their blue grey-white hair flopping in the air, big white teeth flashing as they checked out if Laura and I got the joke and then looked back at each other with renewed giggles.

I couldn't believe my ears. Laura was laughing out loud watching me watch and listen to her mum and aunt. Absolutely surreal.

I took a sip of my beer and a deep breath.

"Georgette is correct though," Marie went on, also in her high brow, slightly accented, sing song voice, "the first Bible published in English was the Wycliffe, the first English Gospels, though, was a tenth century copy of the Lindisfarne Gospels, the originals being late seventh century and written in insular Latin."

I saw Laura's face drop.

"That's correct Marie, I'd forgotten," Georgette beamed at Marie, "the English translation was added word for word in the gloss."

"Who's Linda?"

"All in that lovely insular," countered Marie, with her voice trailing off as all three ladies gazed at me with a puzzled look on their faces.

"You said Linda's Farm. Who's Linda?" It seemed a simple question. I felt stupid again.

The two older women seemed bewildered as Laura answered without a smile on her face, fully understanding that I've not a clue what these women were talking about. "Lindisfarne is an old monastery in Northumberland, almost at the Scottish border. It's where the Vikings first attacked the British Isles."