Free The Devil's Sanctuary by Marie Hermanson Page B

performances. The clients themselves perform, as a sort of therapy. For instance, I played Sun, the pilot, in The Good Woman of Setzuan. Much admired by the audience.”
    “I can imagine,” Daniel said tartly. “Did you have a false beard?”
    “No. But when I saw the collection of beards in the costume room, I realized the possibilities. It’s quite an impressive stock. The hostess in charge of props buys hair from a company in Britain. They supply all the big theaters and opera houses in Europe. Crepe hair, it’s called. It’s made from wool from Scottish sheep and is supplied in plaits of different shades. You stick it on a bit at a time with special glue, then cut it however you want it. There’s a particular technique you have to learn. But as a member of the drama group I’ve got a key to the costume room, so I’ve been able to put in a bit of practice. I’ve actually gotten quite good at it.”
    He pointed at Daniel’s beard.
    “We’ve got that dark brown, almost black color in the storeroom, and I bet I could come up with a beard like yours without too much trouble.”
    Daniel wanted to protest, but Max went on calmly. “Of course the beard isn’t the only difference between us. There’s the way we move. I’ve been studying you carefully since you arrived, and I think I’ve got you pretty well now. That stiffness you had when you were younger is more pronounced. You sort of turn your whole body instead of just your head. Do you have trouble with your joints? A bad neck? No, you’re probably just a bit awkward. You ought to do more exercise. And those gestures you make with your wrists. As if you’re trying to delineate what you’re talking about. Putting. Everything. In. A. Little. Square. Box.”
    Max demonstrated with his own hands. Encouraged by his success, he stood up and started strutting around the clearing, stiff and straight backed, gesticulating and pretending to have a conversation.
    “There, that’s it, you see? I know what it’s all about. All under control. Completely under control.”
    He put his hands together elegantly, and nodded sagely.
    “Then there’s this, I almost forgot!” he cried in delight.
    With an anxious expression he put his hands to his cheeks and squeaked: “Don’t touch my beard! Don’t hit me!”
    Daniel jerked as if he’d had an electric shock. Max’s performance was exaggerated but disconcertingly accurate, he had to admit.
    He himself had always been good at imitating other people’s speech, which had been very useful when it came to learning foreign languages. Now he realized that Max possessed the same talent, but to a considerably larger extent. His brother’s skill at mimicry went beyond speech to encompass the entire physical register: expressions, glances, gait, gestures. It was impressive, and alarming. Daniel felt a pang of relief when Max went back to his own languid body language.
    “What do you think?” Max asked expectantly as he stamped on the ashes of the burned-out fire. “Did I miss anything?”
    “No, I think you got most of it,” Daniel said curtly.
    “Great! Praise from the highest judge. Well, perhaps it’s time to be getting home. And now you know how to catch trout. You’re going to manage absolutely fine for a few days.”
    “Don’t be stupid. It’ll never work.”
    “We’ll see,” Max said as he fixed the pannier to the bike frame. “We’ll see.”

12
    DURING THEIR journey back through the valley Max suddenly pulled up alongside Daniel, leaned toward him, and said in a breathless, intense voice, “I’m begging you, Daniel, please, do me this favor. I’ll never ask for anything ever again. But this is a matter of life or death. I mean that literally. Life or death. All I’m asking is that you make sure you’re in my cabin every morning and evening when the hostesses do their checks.”
    “That’s all? But don’t you get any sort of treatment?”
    Max slowed his pace.
    “Gisela Obermann, my doctor,