I was nearly twenty minutes early. Two tourists were taking pictures of the Lange Wapper, who looked down upon two petrified boozers from atop his pedestal in front of Het Steen. I strolled across the walking promenade at the square near Het Steen and enjoyed the panoramic view on the Scheldt and the apartments of Linkeroever on the other side. My mother had grown up in Linkeroever. Or rather: Sint-Anneke, as she invariably called it. When I was little, my parents used to take me to the Sint-Anna beach quite regularly. I would stir in the sand with sticks, built sand castles and watched the boats that floated on the water for hours. Afterward, we used to eat chips in a small restaurant that looked out upon the Scheldt. My mother always ordered mussels. According to her, the mussels in Sint-Anneke were better than those in Antwerp, although I couldn’t imagine them being different mussels.
In the middle of the walking promenade I halted. On my left, the Cathedral and the Boerentoren towered above the roofs, being the eternal identifying points of the Antwerp city scene. I knew that the tower was 123 meters high, making it the highest church tower of the entire Benelux Union. On my right, a large ship sailed past, slow and heavy, yet unstoppable. Maybe I was like one of those ships, which slowly but surely headed for an unknown harbor. There was a light breeze. I took a deep breath. The first tourists had already appeared. They were still a little sluggish due to a lack of sleep and an overly extensive breakfast buffet. Back in the day, you couldn’t walk around this place for five minutes without getting a camera shoved into your hands. Nowadays, tourists were equipped with a selfie stick and the locals of Antwerp had lost their role of being occasional photographers. I, for one, was not going to complain about it. I was a rotten photographer.
A cruise ship was just mooring. ‘Ocean Majesty,’ I read on the hull. I watched how a burly woman adeptly tied the ropes around the mooring bollard. On the deck, dozens of tourists were already busy taking pictures of the Antwerp skyline.
‘Carine!’
Maggy had suddenly popped up in front of me with her white bicycle with large, floral bicycle bags. ‘Taking a nice walk? Or are you meeting someone?’
Her voice sounded cheerful, but she had prominent bags under her eyes. I had known Maggy since kindergarten. She had been depressed her entire life, but I was one of the few people who knew. She worked part-time as a kindergarten teacher. Everyone at her work adored her because she was such a cheerful woman. She had told me once that she locked herself in the bathroom at least once a day to cry for a while before she got back to work. If she didn’t have to work, she sometimes didn’t leave her house for days. She always showed interest in others, but skilfully avoided questions such as ‘how are you doing?’ or ‘how are you feeling today?’ She smiled often, especially if there were a lot of people around. No one seemed to notice that her smile never reached her eyes. She hid her depression with cheerful clothing, a voice that was a bit too loud, and sweet, white wine. But I had seen her when she hit rock-bottom.
‘Just going for a stroll. I needed some sunlight.’ It felt horrible to lie to her like that and I wasn’t entirely certain why I even did so.
‘I know exactly what you’re talking about.’ Suddenly, she was talking a lot quieter. ‘I hadn’t been outside for an entire week, but now I really had to go to the store and I was thinking: let me just cycle around the block. And now I’ve discovered quite a taste for it. It’s lovely, this sun.’
We were making some more small talk. The wind had increased in strength and it cut right through my summer blouse. When I continued my walk towards the Zuiderterras, a chill went down my spine.
Though I loved the neighborhood, I never went out for a bite to eat at the Zuiderterras – or the RAS, as it was called nowadays. To me, it was too crowded with mainly tourists and people who had migrated to Antwerp, who inhabited a luxurious apartment with a view on the Scheldt and who idolized certain architects with unpronounceable names.
The face of the young waiter had the same color as his shirt: white. It was too much to ask for a smile. I ordered a rose hip tea and made sure not to smile either.
‘Not quite your usual habitat, is it?’
I looked up at J.P. who had appeared out of nowhere again. He was wearing gray pantaloons and a light, black sweater. He sat down in one fluent motion, took off his sunglasses and lay them down in between us on the table. He casually ordered an espresso before he whispered: ‘Quite frankly, I don’t enjoy this hustle and bustle either. But at this time of the day, it’s not too bad over here.’
He was right about that. I had to admit that I enjoyed the unrestricted view on the Scheldt and the skyline of Sint-Anneke on the other side immensely.
J.P.’s gaze followed mine. ‘Do you know why they call Linkeroever Sint-Anneke?’
‘Because of the Sint-Anna beach?’
J.P. folded his hands together. ‘The name is older than that. It comes from a fishing village that used to be situated on the left bank: Sint-Anna. Until the year 1923, that village used to be part of East Flanders, later on it was annexed by the province of Antwerp.
‘Really?’ slipped out of my mouth.
He was visibly amused by my enthusiasm. ‘My grandfather would go there by ferry boat to eat mussels. There were quite a lot of restaurants and casinos. There even were holiday homes. Sadly enough, the village has made room for apartment buildings by now. Even the old village church has disappeared.’
I looked towards the other side of the river that had played a big part in my life for 35 years. And all of a sudden, I no longer saw apartment buildings. I saw tiny boats that moored, men in their Sunday best and women in long skirts. I saw fishermen with weathered faces and hands who were trying to sell their catch of the day in the shadow of the church tower while seagulls were flying over them, screeching.
‘I’ve often heard my grandfather tell stories about Sint-Anna,’ J.P. continued. ‘With a vague smile around his lips. I think that a lot of Antwerp locals of his generation still think back to that village of yore with melancholy. Isn’t it crazy, how images and places are connected to emotions? That definitely counts for memories from our childhood years.’
The waiter asked us if we also wanted something to eat. J.P. politely but resolutely sent him about his business.
‘Now, what about that rhodiola and phosphatidylserine?’
I wasn’t even surprised when he slid another piece of paper over to me. This time I made no effort to hide my cynicism. ‘Even more homework?’
‘No. I think you’re just about ready to take the step by now. Follow the instructions meticulously and don’t deviate from the indicated dose. You’ll be surprised.’
'Why are you doing this?’ I blurted out.
He frowned his eyebrows. ‘If you would know a secret that could help hundreds of people, maybe even thousands, to make their lives a great deal more bearable, wouldn’t you share it with them?’
‘Of course, but what’s the point of all this mystery? Why didn’t you just give me the formula straight away?’
‘I wanted to make sure that you would be open to it. Besides –’ He looked over his shoulder, even though there was nobody in the cafe apart from us and the waiter with the pale face. ‘Besides, I fear that the pharmaceutical industry isn’t very pleased with this discovery. Simple supplements that are easily available, that can reduce psychosomatic complaints for which you would otherwise have to take their medicines... No, they’d rather have you swallowing a load of expensive pills. Now you know the secret. Use it. Help yourself. Be staggered due to the results. And then help others. You probably know other people who suffer from CFS.’
‘I do.’
‘Or a depression.’
Maggy, suddenly flashed through my mind. The idea to be able to help her, after everything she’s tried and been through, made my heart pound in my chest. ‘Does it also help fight depressions?’
‘Didn’t you read about that when you looked up the supplements?’
‘I did.’
‘Good.’ J.P. stood up. ‘My work here is done. Now it’s your turn.’
‘But –’ I started. That’s when he did something that made me gasp. Like an ordinary magician, he pulled out a playing card, seemingly out of nowhere.
‘My grandfather also occasionally went to the casino in Sint-Anna. Sometimes you need to have faith, Carine. Take a gamble.
He laid the card in front of me on the table. It was a joker. He grinned at me, challengingly.
That same day, I went to the pharmacy around the corner to order the two supplements. She raised her eyebrows when I told her that these medicines would cure my CFS. ‘They’re not medicines and CFS is, as far as we know, incurable for the moment.’
For some reason, her doubt strengthened my belief in J.P.’s formula. After all, this was the same pharmacist that handed me painkillers and antidepressants with the announcement that they really weren’t as addictive and unhealthy as some people sometimes claimed.
That week I started taking the supplements. While doing so, I carefully followed J.P.’s instructions. Doubt occasionally struck me, but I told myself to be patient and try it for a few weeks. Sometimes I felt the urge to send him a text message, but I had no idea what I should tell him. Somehow I expected him to send me a message. It never came.
After a few weeks, I already started feeling better. I slept better and when I slept, I dreamed a lot, especially about things from my youth and childhood years. After such a dream, I felt relieved way in a peculiar way. As if I had distanced myself from something. The pain faded away and the fatigue also seemed to slowly disappear into the background. I didn’t immediately feel as though I could jump over a table, but after a few weeks, I suddenly had more energy and a stronger desire to go walking, a hobby that I just about given up a couple of years ago. At first, I didn’t get much further than a walk through the park or the woods close by, but after a while, I started going to places further away from my home. When I was sitting on a cafe terrace on a beautiful summer day, enjoying the afterglow of a seven kilometer walk through the heath in Kalmthout, I could no longer resist the urge to send a text message to J.P.
The supplements really do work. I’ve just walked 7 kilometers. It was lovely. How can I ever repay you?
I pushed ‘send’. A few moments later, my phone buzzed.
Failed to send.
I sent the message again.
Failed to send.
H'm, odd. Probably just bad cell phone reception. I put my phone in my bag and closed my eyes in the summer sun. It was time to tell Els and Veerle about the formula. It would probably help their conditions improve immensely as well. And Maggy. Just imagine that it would help Maggy. I drank the last of my iced tea. What was still stopping me? J.P. had even specifically asked me to spread the word. I just didn’t know how to convey the message. Whether or not they would believe me. Maybe I should just leave J.P. out of the story and tell them that my doctor or pharmacist had suggested this. The problem was that Veerle went to the same family doctor. She would immediately know that doctor Peeters would never suggest anything that wasn’t produced by some large pharmaceutical company. Later that night, I tried sending the message to J.P. again. Failed again. Odd. I selected the number and called. I simply had to thank him.
This number is out of service, a robotic woman’s voice announced.