RIP -- Guillaume Neefes-Rumens
Feb. 24th, 2010 09:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fabrisseHe was the husband of our concierge. Therese spoke no English -- though she learned the word "tomorrow" very quickly. Guillaume's English, learned while he was in the Resistance, often came in very handy, especially when I wasn't around to translate in my poor French.
Our first New Year's Eve in Brussels, he knocked on the door around eleven. He had three little vials of perfume for Mom, Sis, and me and a tiny aftershave for Dad. When he found out Dad was already in bed asleep, he said, "Madame, your husband, my wife, they are too dull for a New year." He ended up staying and watching "Toast of New Orleans" with us. He also explained why we kept seeing hyacinths around and why he'd brought perfume. A sweet scent brings sweet luck for the new year.
He didn't speak much of his Resistance days. Many of the Belgians I knew were embarrassed that the king had surrendered without a shot being fired. I do remember him saying, "It was more enjoyable than the school was for me."
He and Therese laughed when they found out shoes were rationed in the US during the war. Food was rationed in Belgium, cloth too, but never leather.
Guillaume Neefes-Rumens talked about how proud he was at seventeen, right after the war was over, to walk to City Hall and marry Therese. They were already grandparents when we met them, and they were so proud of their children and grandchildren.
In the grand scheme of this world, Guillaume was not a man of great importance. He did factory or handy work most of his life. He smoked like a chimney, had an accent like Boyer, and voted middle of the road. If you didn't know him, you'd pass him on the street and not think twice.
He was a man of great joy and good humor. I never saw him without a smile. He taught me more about delight than anyone I know.
One day, I was walking home from the bus, and he was on the front step. I saw Mom and Therese a house or two down the sidewalk. I started to go over, and he tapped me on the shoulder shaking his head. We were the translators for our families, but Mom and Therese were communicating just perfectly using mime, gestures, and the three words each knew of the other's language. Guillaume said, "Why should we spoil it?" And we watched them chat for a couple more minutes before I went in the house to make dinner.
I was lucky to have known him, and I feel the world is diminished by his loss.
Our first New Year's Eve in Brussels, he knocked on the door around eleven. He had three little vials of perfume for Mom, Sis, and me and a tiny aftershave for Dad. When he found out Dad was already in bed asleep, he said, "Madame, your husband, my wife, they are too dull for a New year." He ended up staying and watching "Toast of New Orleans" with us. He also explained why we kept seeing hyacinths around and why he'd brought perfume. A sweet scent brings sweet luck for the new year.
He didn't speak much of his Resistance days. Many of the Belgians I knew were embarrassed that the king had surrendered without a shot being fired. I do remember him saying, "It was more enjoyable than the school was for me."
He and Therese laughed when they found out shoes were rationed in the US during the war. Food was rationed in Belgium, cloth too, but never leather.
Guillaume Neefes-Rumens talked about how proud he was at seventeen, right after the war was over, to walk to City Hall and marry Therese. They were already grandparents when we met them, and they were so proud of their children and grandchildren.
In the grand scheme of this world, Guillaume was not a man of great importance. He did factory or handy work most of his life. He smoked like a chimney, had an accent like Boyer, and voted middle of the road. If you didn't know him, you'd pass him on the street and not think twice.
He was a man of great joy and good humor. I never saw him without a smile. He taught me more about delight than anyone I know.
One day, I was walking home from the bus, and he was on the front step. I saw Mom and Therese a house or two down the sidewalk. I started to go over, and he tapped me on the shoulder shaking his head. We were the translators for our families, but Mom and Therese were communicating just perfectly using mime, gestures, and the three words each knew of the other's language. Guillaume said, "Why should we spoil it?" And we watched them chat for a couple more minutes before I went in the house to make dinner.
I was lucky to have known him, and I feel the world is diminished by his loss.
