The Past Present

By Bert Hamilton

Thomas Decoster is a retired Professor of Experimental Psychology at the University of Ghent in Belgium. He and Nathalie have no children, but a long and loving marriage nevertheless.

As Thomas reflects through a series of vignettes upon his gone by personal and professional life, his memories are not always pleasant. The future has grown

• Language: English
• Publisher: Albert Wauquier
• Release date: Dec 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781087863108

Bert Hamilton

Ben Hamilton is the penname of a former neuroscientist, a specialist in neuropharmacology, a professor in neurology departments and a clinician certified by the American Academy of Sleep Medicine. He lived in Belgium, the Netherlands and the US. He published 237 scientific articles, authored and co-authored 14 books, on subjects such as brain stimulation reward, electroencephalography, migraine, epilepsy and five on sleep and sleep disorders. Three of his books were written for the general public. Now, he lives in a small village in Spain, midst an international community. When not writing, he loves to read and keeps his interest in brain functioning active. He enjoys Italian cooking and socializing with friends. Above all he loves to spend time in the USA with his daughter Inge, son-in-law Scott Carson and grandson Oliver. As of 2020, he published four novels: The Spirit of Care is a medical drama about Dr. Robert Vermeer who found his dream job when he joined a Sleep Disorders Center. But instead he is caught in a nightmare as sexual politics and fraud take precedence over patients. Beatrice's Secret is a murder mystery about Richard Berger, who found his wife murder in their home. Thinking it may have to do with his wife's political belief in a strong independent Flanders, he travels to Belgium, where he is confronted with a life he can't imagine she'd led. 34 Ypres Street is a coming of age story, set against the background of WWII during the Nazi occupation of Belgium. But once the war is over, life will never be the same and Werner needs to find his way, midst people who carry the scars of war. The Man without a Future is a medical/technological murder mystery. Engineer Matt Hanson has killer nightmares and can't make them stop. He also has a dream job, a gorgeous wife and a luxury home in Dallas. Once tragedy after tragedy strikes, he is forced to struggle with the past and the dominion it exercises over his life and his relationships. Under his real name Albert Wauuier, he published: DrDrowsy's Sleep Prescription, 2003. This is a delightful introduction to sleep and sleep disorders. It should be of interest to the general public and to patients afflicted with sleep disorders. While reading this humorous and informative book, the reader may conclude that this author Dr. Albert Wauquier, was slandered when nicknamed Dr. Drowsy. If his therapeutic work, the reader should be relaxed, rather than sleepy and dysphoric¨ J. Christian Gillin, Professor of Psychiatry, University of California, San Diego, USA. WWII Through my Eyes 2018: is the story or better stories which happened during and shortly after WWII. They are based on my memories or, what I think I remember, because it is sometimes hard to make that distinction especially when a lot of time past between the events and the present day. Other stories are based on those which my father has been telling so many times For further information consult www.albert-wauquier.com

Book preview

Preface

The writing of this story was initially prompted by an old memory of a bloodied girl I had seen sitting dazed in the middle of the road, while a boy lay out cold next to a car smashed into a tree. But then, I had an overriding inclination to write about a retiree, reflecting upon his life and career. Since memories do not always remain memories, and sometimes they startlingly surface into the present, I had the necessary ingredients for this book and its title The Past Present was born.

After drafting several chapters, I presented them to my editor Katherine Homan, with the caveat that the contents were not entirely biographical, but mainly a compilation of musings and flights of my imagination. Her feedback to what I sent her came as quite a surprise. She not only thought what I had written was more poetry than prose, she also sent me a link to a website describing forms of poetry, suggesting that I write my chapters as vignettes instead. Each vignette would center around a theme, expressing an emotion or providing information or describing a situation or presenting a point of view, etc. The book would be a series of interconnected vignettes, though each would be separate and independent, relating only to its title. This style was termed poetic prose.

My initial reaction to Katherine’s proposal was not very positive, since writing poetic prose would be so totally new to each of us. Yet, in very little time, my fear of the unknown dissipated and I began enjoying writing in this new format. At one point, Katherine even commented I’m finding this style of storytelling as most intriguing and charming. I concur and hope that my esteemed readers do too.

We are all ordinary. We are all boring. We are all spectacular. We are all shy. We are all bold. We are all heroes. We are all helpless. It just depends on the day.

—Brad Meltzer, American political thriller novelist.

Memories are like fireflies darting across the surface of my mind, showing me here and there images so sharp and vivid that I catch my breath in wonder before the vignette disappears, sinking like a pebble into the quicksand of regret and recrimination.¨

—Susan Kay, award-winning British novelist

The Accident

It was eight in the morning as I drove on cruise control, listening to the poetic lyrics of Jacques Brel. Wet western winds howled with a hostile fury over the low flatlands of Flanders, gathering the rust and yellow leaves from the beech trees lining the way, leading toward the North Sea. The leaves swirled down in heaps, mingling with the dirty water near the bicycle path, where they rotted into a slimy mass. Suddenly, as the wind raged across the sea, chasing the gray clouds carrying cold rain, the storming stopped and granted the sun a moment of grace to peek out from behind the gaps in the clouds.

In the distance ahead, my attention caught a cluster of people standing on the side of the slippery road, surveying a badly damaged car. It had slammed into a beech tree. Both its doors hung open, never to close again. In the middle of the road, a young woman was pushing herself up off the concrete. Over on the bicycle path, a man laid deathly still, his head a bloody, gory mess.

The young woman’s legs were covered with bloody scratches. One shoe had settled on the pavement next to her leg, and the other hung off her toes as if it wanted to get up and leave. Long brown hair covered part of her blood-spattered face. I pulled out a sterile cloth from my auto emergency kit and rushed over to wipe some of the debris from her eyes. She moaned and turned away from the hurt of my touching. Over and over, she repeated a name that I couldn’t make out.

Emergency vehicles approached, their flashing lights and blaring sirens announcing disaster. Upon arrival, the emergency crew members leaped into action, asking questions of us onlookers and assessing the scene. One examined the young man’s body, shook his head, and without attempting to perform any resuscitation, motioned to a medic to take the accident victim away on a stretcher. Soon the voyeuristic crowd dispersed. The spectacle was over.

I resumed my drive to the university and forensic psychiatry class with the renowned yet eccentric Professor Paul Ghysbrecht. For most murder cases in Belgium, he was the expert psychiatrist to testify for the prosecution. He was also famous for his theatrically vivid analyses of criminal behavior. Although the starting time for his classes was unpredictable, I knew not to arrive too late because he locked the doors behind him. Today he showed up riding on his bicycle, zooming in between the students, his long