"You live here?" I asked as I put my bike aside and went to sit down next to him in the sun on a wooden bench.
Dies pointed with his flat work hand. "Further ahead."
"You're from Walcheren?"
"Yes," the man replied stiffly.
"A beautiful island," I tried.
Dies turned to me and nodded thoughtfully. He looked at me with his head cocked quizzically, as if he was checking me out . He answered melancholically.
"Too beautiful for me."
I looked around and wondered what he meant. I saw fields and a church. A car glided in the distance over a narrow path. Two cyclists greeted us as they rode leisurely past. A man and a woman in shorts passed by. The man whistled a relaxing tune. He wore flipflops and cycled with his heels on the pedals. His knees were wide apart as if he wanted to catch the breeze in his crotch. The eternal wind here smelled of newly cut grass. Dies saw my smile and quizzical look:
"Too beautiful?"
"Are you married?" asked the farmer or villager. I tasted the dialect.
"Married before," I replied as measured as I could without sounding rude.
I didn't know whether the man understood me and yet intentionally followed this subject that still hurt me after all this time.
"But still in love?" he asked point blank.