My wife and I discovered him while living on a former address, and named him Guust, a free translation that means large in Flemish. He is a big fellow, just his silver-grey back is all we saw of him in the dark water; is it not even sure what kind of fish he is, living in that pond in the park, as a leftover from ancient times when the pond was still a part of a creek some 50,000 years ago, where Neanderthal people lived on its banks.
And once in while we visit him since, and hope to see a glimpse of him; that happens sometimes, he is too smart to be caught after so many years a fish needs to grow that big.
Of course there are fishermen ashore, boys that hunt him, in spite of all creatures want to be left alone. Who cares until it happens to oneself. They call it sport and we watch from one of the benches in the park, and do nothing, just hope that they will not catch him; just the tiny ones, even if they feel the same.