Some 30 people gathered to celebrate Bill, which in itself was an amazing number given both the date and the amount of snow that had fallen the previous night (as Allan put it, he chose the warmest place in Brussels). Most of my friends were already gone for the holidays, so I was very touched by the fact that so many people braved the weather. Some managed only to arrive just at the end after a long trip and others wanted to come and didn't make it for lack of transportation. Going through the Bois de la Cambre the beauty was breath taking, and even Bill, that hated the cold, would have agreed. My brother João and sister-in-law Paula were there, as they had hopped into the car two hours after getting the news. They had lived many years in Brussels and, in any case, he seems destined to help me in difficult trips, as he was the one that, at age 12, accompanied me, a toddler, in the boat trip from Africa to Europe after I caught polio. By chance, the big brother of my oldest friend was in Brussels too and he was there, like the friend that I had called after 112 (the European emergency number, remember!) and stayed with me watching the emergency team trying to resuscitate Bill. There were people that I had accompanied in their own unlucky strikes, but also unexpected work relations and, of course, the band of Bills friends that helped me with arrangements, made photos, framed them, chose and composed music for Bill.

     I was asked to chose between a non religious or religious ceremony (in this country meaning Roman Catholic by default). I was a little insecure about that, as Bill was a lot more spiritual than I, but also a lot more anti-clerical. I consulted with some of Bill's friends and decided for a simple blessing by a priest (I specifically asked for Latin, as Bill didn't much care for French and liked the old liturgy). Music, of course, was necessary. I was also asked to take some weird decisions, like, should they wait after we leave to take the coffin away or do we watch it go on its little rail Fun Fair like (too Auschwitzy, I thought), what category of funeral should it be (short ceremony cheap coffin, longer ceremony better coffin, etc.). I couldn't care less for the coffin but I did care for the time (although I started being a little trepidatious about getting a yellow plastic thing for a coffin, or something, but in the end it was very proper).

     I asked Albin and Dorothée to help me because all these rites are quite alien to me anyway. Halfway through we laughed because we had the same idea: Bill would have considered us horribly bourgeois, going through our little program. But he was also quite tolerant, so... A picture seemed a good idea, and Bryan kindly sent a high resolution version of his "Dr. Carter sees the light": I think Bill recognized himself in that picture (it shows his spirit well, as a friend put it). Pierre printed it, Albin and Dorothée framed it very nicely (with more space underneath than above, as Albin pointed out). We first thought that Alain could play his own music (that Bill liked very much) on the piano, but it would be too complicated, so we settled for two bits from Alain's record. I was little disappointed not to have it live, but at the last minute Alain composed a small piece for Bill on the accordion, which made me very happy. We were looking for something else that would soothe thoughts and feelings but all our Vivaldi and Bach and... and... and... was in the moving boxes. Then I remembered that PT Isabel had given me Arvo Pärt's "Alina", that she herself played over and over for her own sadness when she heard the news. Spiegel im Spiegel turned out to be perfect, and I asked for the version with cello (Bill's favorite instrument as you know) to be played for his leaving.

     I often called Bill "my lily of the fields". I am not quite sure how he took it, because he intended to get filthy rich with his patent, but I think he recognized it for what it was, a tongue in cheek compliment full of respect and occasionally some exasperation. So we looked up a nice version in English that Dorothée accepted to read with her beautiful voice. Albin tried in vain to write something, but nothing came out, and that was allright. I had thought of singing for him one of my songs which says "When I was very small, barely born, my eyes just opened to see you; when I will be very old, barely dead, look into my lifeless eyes, they will still see you", but it didn't seem quite right, either. We looked into Corinthians 1 and its description of love that described Bill's ways in love so well. Back at home I collected various thoughts that people that cared for him sent my way, and decided to read in Portuguese the text that starts with "Love is patient...". I had a brief exegetical discussion with my most pious brother because I found a version that says "Love protects" that seemed to fit exactly Bill's "I'll get your back". But, being a linguist and all, and quite square, I decided not to stray from the standard "Love bears all things".

     The priest proposed to say in Latin the Pater Noster and the Requiem. He obviously couldn't remember the old prayers anymore and he had a blank in the middle of the Pater Noster, but that was allright, too. I realized with some horror that he was going to say a little homily, and I did what I usually do in those circumstances, I closed my inner ears. It was a mistake, because when I let the words in, it sounded as if he had known Bill: "Let's be thankful for William, for all he did with his hands, his intelligence, his heart". Indeed.

     My brother read your words. Alain's piano was played. Dorothée reminded us of the splendor of the lilies of fields that do not labor or spin. Alain played his accordion for Bill. I spoke of his love in the words of Paul of Tarsus. I left him a Godspeed message written on a little paper sailing boat that a good friend of mine, at a loss for words, made for him (with two sails, so that he could go around the Cape Horn), wrapped in one of his most prized possessions, the flag of the nautical club of... (I took a picture so that you can help me with the name that I forgot). I had asked if it was possible that the cello could remain with Bill until the end, which probably triggered some kind of confusion: two little doors opened and wheels started to grind, so I bolted for the only door I knew followed by my chevalier servant Albin, hoping to avoid the Auschwitz Ghost Train sort of scene for everybody. Albin couldn't open the door and we both started laughing as we shook the handle a little hysterically. We eventually managed to get out leaving everybody probably stunned behind, and laughed even more when Albin was wacked on the back by another door (the exit) when he was giving me a hug. Then people started coming out orderly through the proper door and one of them told me: "I wish I had met him". I think we did a good job.

     A 83-year old lady that I like very much sent me this text addressed to Isabill Saints Peartree (the English "translation" of my surname, that I picked up for my email address). I wish her a serene passing when her time comes.

Ne pleure pas si tu m'aimes

La mort n'est rien.
Je suis simplement passé de l'autre côté.
Je suis moi et tu es toi. (Je suis toi et tu es moi)
Ce que nous étions l'un pour l'autre,
Nous le sommes toujours.
Donne-moi le nom que tu m'as toujours donné.
Parle-moi comme tu l'as toujours fait.
N'emploie pas un air solennel ou triste,
Continue à rire de ce qui nous faisait rire ensemble...
Prie, souris.
Pense à moi, prie avec moi.
Que mon nom soit prononcé à la maison
Comme il a toujours été,
Sans emphase d'aucune sorte, sans une trace d'ombre
La vie signifie ce qu'elle a toujours signifié.
Elle est toujours ce qu'elle a toujours été : le fil n'est pas coupé.
Pourquoi serai-je hors de ta pensée
Simplement parce que je suis hors de ta vue ?
Non, je ne suis pas loin,
Juste de l'autre côté du chemin
Tu vois, tout est bien...
Tu retrouveras mon cœur,
Tu en retrouveras les tendresses épurées.
Essuie tes larmes,
Et ne pleure pas, si tu m'aimes.

This poem in English :