ABSTRACT
I wonder if stomach cancer is one of the prices one might pay for glut-tony, for that is what killed Maarten Soëtendrop at the age of seventy-one. It was my old friend, Yosee Strigler, who wrote informing me of the death of the corpulent, legendary actor in the heart of the Belgian pays noir. It was in Charleroi, the city named after a bewitched, dull Spanish king, where Soëtendrop lost his footing. And it was there that he made his final exit from the stage, too.
