Midnight in Brussels Read online

  Having gone through a rather lengthy combination of flights to Belgium, Amanda was thrilled she had finally landed in Europe. Luckily the connecting plane from Chicago was not full and she didn't feel as if she was a sardine in a tin as she had felt on the flight from California to Chicago.

  That flight had been implausible. She’d wondered why the seats were so close together. Her knees were hitting the seat in front of her and she couldn't use the communal armrest because a man sitting next to her hogged it. It was a miserable flight. So she had tried to sleep most of the way, crammed into her corner against the window. Good thing she’d been tired to begin with.

  The second leg of the flight had been much better. She’d had an extra seat to spread to and had caught up on some sleep, since she’d stayed awake with excitement the night before she left.

  Richard had taken her to dinner the night before, so that had killed some of the waiting time. And she’d invited him into her apartment afterwards where they’d looked through magazines and talked till the wee hours of the morning. She was still keeping him at bay sex-wise, and he didn’t seem to mind at all. At least he wasn’t pressuring her. She was grateful for that. But she had to admit she wondered how it would be to make love to him, although she dismissed the thought from her mind just as soon as it appeared.

  So here she was in Belgium at last! As it turned out the train station in the airport was relatively easy to find, she was right about the train icon and arrows.

  She’d read that French was spoken mainly in Brussels, and Dutch in Bruges, but people were friendly and helpful enough, even in gesturing, so she was able to get where she wanted to go.

  After leaving the airport she changed trains once in the center of Brussels, at Brussels Nord, and then found a comfy seat at a table on the second train where she settled in to enjoy the remainder of the trip to Bruges, or Brugge … she noticed it was spelled both ways. However, that comfort was short-lived, for the conductor came through and told her she would have to go to the second class car because she was sitting in first class.

  She apologized and moved her luggage, two pieces, to a space in between the cars and that's as far as she got … the second class cars were packed. More sardines. She opted to stand up for the duration of the trip in the space between first and second class; making her a no-class passenger … she chuckled at her self-description. Standing felt pretty good to her, anyway, since she’d been sitting for over thirteen hours as it was.

  The train ride through the Belgian countryside reminded her of the photographs and movies she’d seen of the Austrian countryside. Very green, dotted with stone houses and farms, although no mountains as in Austria. The Belgian terrain was flat.

  Other than the occasional visits the passengers were making to the toilet (as it turned out she was standing by the toilet in the in-between-cars space), she was alone to take in the lovely views through the narrow panes in the doors. She was happy.

  Once in Bruges she headed directly to a coffee concession in the train station. She hadn't had a cup since leaving Chicago. The flight from Chicago didn't have potable water, as it turned out, and they were unable to serve tea or coffee. They even asked that the passengers use the sani-wipes they provided in the restrooms for their hands, asked that they not use the water from the faucet. Evidently there'd been a problem and they hadn’t received fresh water before leaving the States. There was bottled water to drink, luckily, but staff had to make a last minute trip into the terminal to get enough of it for the duration of the flight.

  So, the coffee in the little Belgian concession stand in the train station tasted a very welcome perfect. She sat there and enjoyed every drop of it while she got her bearings and realized where she was. She was in Belgium.

  What am I doing here? the question surfaced without a moment’s notice. She was suddenly feeling alone in a strange country, not knowing a soul. Sitting with a cup of coffee and two suitcases and all the money she had in the world. This was it. This was the entire package.

  She shook off the fear that was beginning to emerge, took a deep breath, and decided to leave the safe spot at the coffee stand and venture out into Belgium. After she bought another cup of coffee to go, the first thing she noticed was how warm the weather was, and then she saw the uneven cobblestoned walkways and streets all around her as she made her way across the huge square to what appeared to be a taxi stop.

  She waved to a cab driver and waited for him to pull up to where she was standing. He told her she couldn't drink coffee in his cab and that she’d have to dump it. Sadly she did so.

  He turned out to be a very pleasant driver, however; told her a bit about the town as he drove, gave her a map, and took her through the center of Bruges and the Market Square, indicating other points of interest that were within the ring road.

  The driver told her that most European cities are situated within a ring - a road encircling the city. When you reach that road from within, you know you're moving into the outer limits. It comes in handy when you're a city-walker.

  She noticed that the B&B where she’d be staying was within the ring. The town center was maybe a ten-minute or less walk according to the map, over and alongside canals and shop-lined cobbled streets.

  Her hosts Robert van Nevel and Lievetje Gevaert turned out to be pleasant and energetic hosts. Robert spoke English as well as French and Dutch and who knows how many other languages. His appearance reminded her of a bearded, long-haired professor, an intellectual like some of the ones who came into KC’s Steakhouse on occasion. Lievetje was a charming woman, still learning English.

  Robert built all the furniture in the guest rooms – two bedrooms in their home that they rented out to tourists. It was set up just like a small hotel, however. In the parlor were antiques and collectibles - an antique camera collection that caught Amanda’s attention. She’d never seen anything like it.

  Carmersstraat appeared to be a very quiet street, with a small grocery store across the lane from the B&B, more like a tiny version of a stateside convenience store, Amanda noted. The Nevel house was a brick and stone sixteenth century building with high ceilings and tall windows opening onto the street below. She was paying 265 euros for five nights. She figured that would give her time to find a place for a longer term. This place didn’t have an elevator and the stairs were very steep, so getting her luggage up to her room posed a problem. It took both Lievetje and Amanda to carry the heaviest suitcase because Robert wasn't there when she had arrived. Lievetje did her best to go over everything with Amanda in broken English.

  Amanda was very happy to finally be left alone in her comfy room with a bed she immediately sprawled across. At that moment she felt like she might never rise again. Felt like maybe she would spend the next five days in that bed.

  Chapter 20

  Two days had passed since Amanda arrived in Belgium. She’d slept through the first afternoon and night and the next day and night, only awakening to drink water and to go to the toilet.

  The afternoon of the third day she went across the street to the little neighborhood grocery and bought some food that could be eaten without cooking – she was starving. But she still wasn’t up to par. The time of day was confusing to her; it felt like it should be nighttime. That was because she was still on California time, and wasn’t adapting very well. No one had warned her of jet-lag.

  As she sat in her room at a window eating a jar of delicious white asperges (as they spell it in Bruges, asparagus in the U.S.), she glanced out the tall open windows to the rooftops of the neighborhood houses lined up across the lane. The front rooflines, or façade, were shaped like stair steps starting from the eves of the building on each side, stair-stepping to meet at the apex in the middle, topped with a chimney-like crest. She noticed that one of the pieces of furniture in her room that Robert van Nevel had built had the same motif on its top edge, same as the roof facades. It was a design used throughout Belgium for furniture as well as roofs - she’d learned in one of her t
ravel books.

  That afternoon she was going to venture out and get to know her surroundings. She decided to first take a boat ride through the canals she was dying to see.

  So she finished the tasty asperges and drank some bottled water and grabbed her shoulder bag. She opened the door to the carpeted stairwell and caught a glimpse of Leitive as she was climbing to the next floor up the narrow staircase.

  “How are you, this morning, Lievetje?”

  Lievetje backed down a couple steps and bent to see and respond to Amanda’s greeting. “Oh. Hello, good afternoon!”

  “Y’all are right, it is afternoon. This time change is confusin’ the heck out of me. Well, I’m headin’ out to check out the town.”

  “Is good for you in the room?”

  “Yes, it’s perfect. I just love it.”

  “I am happy to hear. I will clean while you are away. Bye, now.” She continued to climb the stairs without waiting for an answer from Amanda.

  Amanda happily sauntered down Carmersstraat toward the canal she could see just up the lane. The narrow lane felt almost like an alleyway with the three- and four-story houses looming above each side of it. It seemed strange walking on cobblestone streets, and pretty tricky. She stumbled a time or two and caught her balance, but didn’t fall.

  She reached the waterway and breathed in the fresh air as she stood on the middle of the bridge leaning over the balustrade. She could see the boat rental docks on both sides of the canal from where she was standing. Her excitement level was rising.

  She hurried to get in line at the first one she reached that was boarding at that moment. The sun was shining and the other people on the sightseeing riverboat were jovial and having fun. Amanda was elated. The tour guide was hilarious and informative. Amanda thought he must be an actor, maybe a comedian. She never dreamed she would be in such a town taking an open boat ride through the canals with other tourists, viewing the buildings from the water’s perspective. It was beautiful, just as it was in the magazines she’d treasured for so long. Along the green-bordered canal where professional photographers congregated to snap the abundant foliage, Amanda marveled at the quaint houses and café patios that lined its edges.

  The boatman sitting up front steering the boat, as the passengers sat on built-in benches in what resembled long, wooden rowboats, reminded her of the French actor Gerard Depardieu. She’d seen the movie Green Card with her sister the week before she left. The boatman’s size and looks were almost identical to Depardieu, except that his lengthy unruly hair was sun-bleached and he was tanned from being exposed to the daily elements of his profession. He spoke four languages during the “cruise.” Said that most of the elementary school children in Belgium, and all of Europe for that matter, usually learned several languages in school, said it was standard.

  Amanda wondered why the American children are only taught English in school. She was thinking what a shame it was. In Belgium they learn two, three, and sometimes four languages in their elementary school years; they even learn their neighboring country’s languages. She remembered hearing some of the teachers that came into KC’s complaining how they were having to learn Spanish to be able to teach the migrant Mexicans infiltrating the California school system. They were downright irate, she recalled. What is so wrong with learning a neighboring country’s language? Wouldn’t that be to everyone’s advantage? she thought to herself and then gave her full attention back to the guide. She was so happy.

  After the boat ride, Amanda followed her map’s suggestion on getting to the town center, the central square called the Markt (without the e). From the Markt Square she planned to branch out to view the city each day. That was her plan. She would go to the Markt each morning for coffee and then plan her day as she sat there. But this first afternoon, now quickly becoming early evening, she was heading to the historic Craenenburg Tavern set on the site where at one time Maximilian of Austria, the Holy Roman Emperor, was held captive. The history mesmerized her. She couldn’t absorb enough to satisfy her.

  She entered through the Craenenburg’s front courtyard full of patrons, drinking and soaking up what was left of the late afternoon sun. As she entered the building through tall glass-paned double doors she was immediately drawn to the elaborate amber stained glass windows around the perimeter of the restaurant. The walls and woodwork were in shades of gold to brown.

  A friendly waiter welcomed her and gave her the option of sitting wherever she wished. She selected a table along the wall and sat on the long bench that serviced all the tables along that side of the restaurant. Three chairs were added to each in the row of tables to enable them to accommodate four patrons at every table. Throughout the rest of the room, tables were set with four chairs surrounding, and in some cases tables were pushed together to seat even more customers.

  The waiter handed Amanda a menu, grinning widely. “What would you like to drink, mademoiselle?”

  “Uh, well, I don’t know. Let me see …” Finally she looked up from the menu. That was the first time Amanda actually paid any attention to the waiter, and she was taken aback at the brightness and clarity of his brown eyes, the size of them, and the thick, dark lashes that protected them. His smooth black hair was short and well-groomed, unlike most of the long tousled locks the majority of other young men displayed.

  “Well, I suppose I should have a glass of wine to celebrate my first outing in Bruges, wouldn’t you think?”

  He flashed a big smile. “Yes, of course! So this is your first visit to Bruges?”

  “It sure is. First time in Belgium, actually. First time anywhere, other than the U.S.”

  “How long will you be here?”

  “Forever, I hope.” She giggled.

  “Then yes, of course, you must celebrate. May I suggest a glass of champagne?”

  “Oh my goodness. I forgot all about that drink. Yes, that’s what I want. A glass of champagne. Thank you for remindin’ me.” As the waiter left the table, she thought about all the times at KC’s when she would watch the couples come in and order bottles of champagne. At the time, she’d wished that she was the one sitting at the tables ordering. Champagne represented romance to her.

  Thoughts of Richard crept into her mind. She had such mixed emotions about him. He was a good man, she knew that. And when she was with him she felt she could love him, but away from him she didn’t know how she felt. She hardly gave him a thought – out of sight, out of mind, maybe. And she hadn’t thought about Arlie at all. That made her feel guilty. How could she not think about her husband, even though he was missing? Shouldn’t she feel sad or upset? She had asked herself that many times over the past few months. Her answer was always no, he had run off and left her. So how could she have any feelings for someone who did that to her?

  The waiter returned with a bottle of champagne.

  “Is that a good one?” she asked, wanting to seem more sophisticated than she was.

  “Yes, of course.” He popped the cork.

  “You did that good!”

  “Yes, of course. I am Antoine. You are?”

  “Amanda Jefferies.” It was too late to correct the mistake, she should have said Conroy. It would take some getting used to, she decided.

  “Ah! Both A’s, Amanda and Antoine.” He laughed as he poured, and then set the bottle in an ice bucket nearby. “I’ll give you more time to decide what to order. You are having dinner, yes?”

  “Yes, of course.” She repeated, using the exact inflection Antoine had used.

  He nodded and walked away, thinking she definitely was an A in his book. He wanted to get to know this lovely American woman.

  Chapter 21

  Amanda spent the next few days walking through the neighborhoods, searching out the historical sites and following the streets indicated on the maps. She spent time roaming through the Saint Saviour’s Cathedral and stopped in the main chapel to listen to the sounds of its huge pipe organ. The terrific, eerie sounds consumed the airspace and she felt as
if she was hearing the actual phantom of the opera playing. She and Paula had driven to Los Angeles to see the famous Phantom show at the Shubert Center in West L.A. She’d never seen anything like it, had never been to a stage show. And now the exciting sounds coming from this organ brought back that wonderful experience.

  But this was incredible, even more astonishing than the show. She felt that maybe this guy was playing a jillion extra notes that weren’t supposed to be in the number. It sounded as if he was pounding on all the keys at once. Incredible! She wished she would have arrived sooner, for it had been a concert and that was the last song.

  Amanda learned that the church was built in the gothic style of the fourteenth century and had been continually added to and restored ever since. After a disastrous fire in 1839 a major restoration had been necessary, but the original rusticness still remained. She couldn’t help but stand there and feel in awe for the years the building had been in existence and for the multitudes of people who had passed through its doors.

  She also visited an even older church, smaller, in Burg Square which was right next to Markt Square. Its huge rustic-hewn pillars were fascinating. Once inside she touched the irregularity of the stones that had been cut and mortared into place to create the columns that held up the church all those years. If they were flattened out it would resemble the pattern of the cobblestone streets. The columns were huge, she thought they had to be at least five feet in diameter. Solid as a rock certainly applies to the Belgian churches, Amanda thought as she ran her hands over the columns.