visits from my misfortune ghost – like when I suffered a minor concussion after someone punched me in the face right outside a gay club. It also often happened for medically necessary admissions. I was often in the neurology department, often for weeks. I was kind of a “regular customer”, with my medical and mental breakdowns, and at the end of the day you know your care team and your fellow patients really well. It almost became cozy - there were often four of us in one room. One day I was able to witness a heroic act. My roommates and I were looking out the window and suddenly we saw another patient, from further down the hall, standing on the roof. I knew him, I had spoken to him before. He often appeared confused.We heard shouting coming from the hallway - the nursing staff were shouting to each other about what was going on - some were also shouting for the man to come back inside, but he remained standing. Suddenly a nurse crawled out of the window, onto the windowsill, towards the roof. We knew her: secretly we called her “the long string bean”, as thin and big as she was. She crept up to the man and talked to him. We saw other people opening windows so they could crawl back in – if they could.
She got closer and closer to the patient - that man was so close to the gutter, this could go wrong at any moment. He didn't dare to move anymore, he listened to her. Gently but firmly she took him and gently pushed him towards the window. He allowed it.
They arrived at the open window. There were other staff ready to take over – if they could. The nurse pushed him in and she quickly jumped after it. Both saved. Meanwhile we heard fire sirens and a lot of other noise. We looked out into the hallway and saw that the man had been placed on a stretcher – and strapped in. Afterwards we heard that he had been transferred to Melveren, because he could be cared for better and safer there. Both my roommates and I were deeply impressed. Do it! One misstep would have killed both the patient and the nurse. We mutually agreed not to call the nurse “the long string bean” anymore, we saw how disrespectful that actually was. We also planned to buy flowers for her. What a heroine. Both her and the entire team. It came in. Life in Brussels was not just filled with activism or medical doom and gloom. A very coincidental meeting, not long after I started living in Brussels, gave my life a very beautiful, different meaning. I was standing close to the Grand Place in Brussels; I rented a small studio near there. There was a group of young classical musicians playing together in the street. I thought it was wonderful. I always had loved classical music.
There were three men and two women and together they played The Four Seasons by Vivaldi. It was so beautiful. They turned out to be Russian students! I got talking to one of them, Ivanhov. He spoke the best English. Their group was called “Concerto Grosso” and they all studied at the Tchaikovsky Conservatory in Moscow. It was summer now and apparently it was very normal for students to go abroad and play there. Sometimes official concerts, but sometimes also on the street, like Ivanhov and his group did. Another man came up to us, who had also been listening.
“Are you part of the group?” he asked me in English.
“Haha, no,” I laughed. “I'm just watching them. I love classical music!”
He changed to Dutch, with a French accent:
“Ah, okay! Do you also like jazz? Sorry, I can't speak Dutch very well.”
“That's okay,” I replied.
I didn't really understand jazz – I didn't really know how that music worked.
It took me a long time to speak jazz, even pronounce correctly.
“And no problem, I can't speak French very well!” I added, laughing.
“I'm Charles,” said the man. “I have a jazz club not far from here.”
He meant Brussels Jazz Club. I have been to that club several times -passed, it was indeed close. I even lived on the same street.
That was a jazz club of international stature.
We saw that the musicians signaled to each other that it was enough for today. The female musicians went around wearing hats and selling their CDs. They sold well! They had played very well. Ivanhov came to us.
“Did you like it?” he asked us. Absolute!
“Wouldn't you all like to come to the club?”
Charles asked in English.
“You too!” he said to me in Dutch.
Well then, I thought. Ivanhov and the group gathered their instruments and we all headed towards Brussels Jazz Club.
“You can help me with my Dutch,” said Charles.
35.
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