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Authors: Marie Hermanson
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Max’s flat. But there was no answer when he rang the door bell, and he had to spend the night on a park bench.
The next day Max let him in and said with a triumphant smile, “I was right. She was Swedish. And a virgin.”
When Daniel had showered and gotten his razor out to tidy himself up after the night’s carousing, he suddenly changed his mind and angrily wiped away the shaving cream. He wasn’t going to shave. He was going to grow a beard. He never wanted to be confused with his brother again.
11
“HERE IT IS,” Max said breathlessly. “This is my favorite place.”
He pointed with his rod as he moved among the rocks in a damlike, still section of the rapids. All around him the water tumbled down small waterfalls and drops.
“There’s a little pool behind these rocks. There are usually five or six of them here, floating completely motionless. You just have to fish them out. I haven’t shown this place to anyone else. Just you.”
During the next couple of hours they were completely absorbed with fishing. Daniel wasn’t used to it, but he was a quick learner, and by lunchtime his casting technique was pretty good. He had had no idea that his brother was a decent fisherman. He guessed it was the element of gambling that appealed.
“Do many tourists come up here?” Daniel asked when they’d sat down on a flat rock and Max had gotten their lunch from the bikes, which they’d left in a clump of fir trees nearby.
“Tourists? In Himmelstal?”
Max handed him a ham sandwich and laughed as if Daniel had said something funny.
“I mean, it’s so beautiful here,” Daniel added.
“Not beautiful enough. The valley is narrow and shaded and the mountains are too steep for skiing or hiking. No, no one comes to Himmelstal for the scenery. They come here to avoid being seen.” Max opened a bottle of beer and held the cap in place to stop the frothing liquid from escaping. “This valley is a hiding place.”
“A hiding place?”
Max took a deep swig of beer, then sat there, one knee raised, with the bottle in his hand. He looked out over the rapids and said, “This has been a hiding place since the Middle Ages. There used to be a convent here where they looked after lepers. Right where the clinic is now. The convent is long gone, but the old churchyard is still there at the bottom of the hill. Only lepers could be buried there, no one else. Banished even in death. Unclean.”
He picked up a pinecone and threw it angrily into the water, where it was caught by the current and twisted round and round.
“A vile disease,” Daniel agreed. “I can imagine that there might have been a sanatorium here as well. After all, the Alps are full of old sanatoriums that have been turned into hotels and private clinics.”
Max snorted.
“Oh, no. Tuberculosis patients were a completely different class. They never came to Himmelstal. It was far too inaccessible. No railway. And no vehicle access before the nineteen-fifties.”
“How do you know all this?” Daniel asked, impressed.
“I got sent a brochure when I signed up for the clinic. Sometime during the nineteenth century the convent was rebuilt as a home for the disabled. For people with learning difficulties, the mentally ill, and handicapped. In other words, new groups of undesirables that people wanted to hide out of the way. The staff lived in the village, or in the home itself, and they were pretty much self-sufficient. It must have been like its own little world. Then the whole place burned down. A number of patients died. One of the patients is supposed to have started the fire.”
There was a pause as Max took another swig of beer, and Daniel saw a series of unpleasant images in his mind’s eye. To get rid of them he said, “Didn’t it used to be a cosmetic surgery clinic as well? That’s what the taxi driver who drove me up here said.”
“That’s right. The perfect hiding place for freshly operated faces. Christ, what a place. A dumping
The next day Max let him in and said with a triumphant smile, “I was right. She was Swedish. And a virgin.”
When Daniel had showered and gotten his razor out to tidy himself up after the night’s carousing, he suddenly changed his mind and angrily wiped away the shaving cream. He wasn’t going to shave. He was going to grow a beard. He never wanted to be confused with his brother again.
11
“HERE IT IS,” Max said breathlessly. “This is my favorite place.”
He pointed with his rod as he moved among the rocks in a damlike, still section of the rapids. All around him the water tumbled down small waterfalls and drops.
“There’s a little pool behind these rocks. There are usually five or six of them here, floating completely motionless. You just have to fish them out. I haven’t shown this place to anyone else. Just you.”
During the next couple of hours they were completely absorbed with fishing. Daniel wasn’t used to it, but he was a quick learner, and by lunchtime his casting technique was pretty good. He had had no idea that his brother was a decent fisherman. He guessed it was the element of gambling that appealed.
“Do many tourists come up here?” Daniel asked when they’d sat down on a flat rock and Max had gotten their lunch from the bikes, which they’d left in a clump of fir trees nearby.
“Tourists? In Himmelstal?”
Max handed him a ham sandwich and laughed as if Daniel had said something funny.
“I mean, it’s so beautiful here,” Daniel added.
“Not beautiful enough. The valley is narrow and shaded and the mountains are too steep for skiing or hiking. No, no one comes to Himmelstal for the scenery. They come here to avoid being seen.” Max opened a bottle of beer and held the cap in place to stop the frothing liquid from escaping. “This valley is a hiding place.”
“A hiding place?”
Max took a deep swig of beer, then sat there, one knee raised, with the bottle in his hand. He looked out over the rapids and said, “This has been a hiding place since the Middle Ages. There used to be a convent here where they looked after lepers. Right where the clinic is now. The convent is long gone, but the old churchyard is still there at the bottom of the hill. Only lepers could be buried there, no one else. Banished even in death. Unclean.”
He picked up a pinecone and threw it angrily into the water, where it was caught by the current and twisted round and round.
“A vile disease,” Daniel agreed. “I can imagine that there might have been a sanatorium here as well. After all, the Alps are full of old sanatoriums that have been turned into hotels and private clinics.”
Max snorted.
“Oh, no. Tuberculosis patients were a completely different class. They never came to Himmelstal. It was far too inaccessible. No railway. And no vehicle access before the nineteen-fifties.”
“How do you know all this?” Daniel asked, impressed.
“I got sent a brochure when I signed up for the clinic. Sometime during the nineteenth century the convent was rebuilt as a home for the disabled. For people with learning difficulties, the mentally ill, and handicapped. In other words, new groups of undesirables that people wanted to hide out of the way. The staff lived in the village, or in the home itself, and they were pretty much self-sufficient. It must have been like its own little world. Then the whole place burned down. A number of patients died. One of the patients is supposed to have started the fire.”
There was a pause as Max took another swig of beer, and Daniel saw a series of unpleasant images in his mind’s eye. To get rid of them he said, “Didn’t it used to be a cosmetic surgery clinic as well? That’s what the taxi driver who drove me up here said.”
“That’s right. The perfect hiding place for freshly operated faces. Christ, what a place. A dumping
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