Vandevelde Part I

I was thinking of posting chapters of my manuscripts I am currently writing. Do be aware that the chapters might sometimes read a bit weird, that is for my book is in Flemish, written in the Kempisch dialect which i speak. But i think that is the only problem.

Ps. This is merely the second draft for your knowledge...

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Chapter 1

It was the usual eight o'clock mass, 1855 in Antwerp. Jos had to yawn. He didn't give a damn what the priest had to say; he'd rather be off with his friends. He looked around the church, all those huge pillars and that grotesque altar where that old fart, the priest, always spouted some Latin that nobody understood a word of. The sun shone through the church windows, all of which depicted saints:

Saint Helena, Saint Dymphna, Saint Nicholas, Saint Ambrose, Saint Augustine, Saint Begga of Herstal, but in the largest stained-glass window at the back, Jesus was depicted beaten and wounded by the Romans.

Ultimately, all those statues were there just to get everyone to sell their wives and candles of the saints. Suddenly, everyone stood up. Jos looked around and did the same. People were saying a prayer. Jos hadn't been paying attention, so he just babbled softly. His father saw this, squinted at him, and gave him a gentle nudge. Jos looked irritated but remained silent. Eventually, everyone sat back down, and the mass came to an end.

Jos couldn't get out any faster. With a sigh, he joined his friends.

"Damn, that cart's just getting more boring," Jos complained.

"No, man, you just have to know where to look, you see."

One of his friends, Louis, pointed to a group of young women dressed in black. They laughed and whispered among themselves.

"Weren't you worth the salesman?"

Another friend laughed, his name was Peter. Louis turned around, clicked his tongue, and gave them a friendly thrashing.

"Stupid donkey"

"Keep all that commotion at home, I have to see the lady, alright? You're not little kids anymore, are you?"

Jos tried to calm the two of them down.

The three continued walking towards the pub. They passed all the houses, such as the butcher's, the baker's, and the notary's. The houses were close together, the sun shone as it usually did, but was drowned out by the smoke and mist from the steamboats and chimneys.

After strolling through the alleys, they arrived at "the skipper," an old pub where sailors and captains used to stop for a pint after long voyages during the eighteenth century.

The men went through the door and headed straight for the bar. They ordered their pints and chatted and discussed a bit. At one point, Louis asked Jos:

"Say, where are you going to work now?" he asked curiously.

"At the sugar factory, our mother arranged that."

"Didn't your dad have the press?" Peter interjected.

"No, Van Aert stole that from our dad."

"And your dad?"

Louis emphasized.

"He's coming to the factory too."

"Ah, right."

The three were silent and drank another pint. But one pint became two, and two is only one, so that became four, and double that is eight, and after the eighth pint, you can't count anymore. There were certainly a lot, too many, so many even that they had to crawl home, but they got home anyway. So did Jos.