Free The Angel Maker by Stefan Brijs

glance.
    ‘Well done, Michael. But there’s still a little toothpaste in the corner of your mouth.’
    Raphael and Gabriel stepped down and, without needing to be asked, also showed her their teeth. Frau Maenhout nodded, satisfied.
    ‘You see, we can do it ourself,’ said Gabriel.
    ‘Soon you won’t be needing me any more,’ she said, winking at them. ‘OK, now get undressed. I’ll run the water for the bath.’ It took her a little while to get the temperature of the water right, and when she turned round again, she saw that Gabriel was the only one who’d managed to take off his jumper. Michael had got no further than taking one arm out of its sleeve and Raphael, struggling to pull his sweater over his head, was still fumbling with the back of it, his elbows sticking out in front of him. It was then that Frau Maenhout noticed something in the mirror she had not seen before.
    ‘What’s that?’ she asked, pointing at Raphael’s bare back in the mirror.
    ‘Father did it,’ he said quickly.
    She walked up to him and pulled off his jumper. There was a postage-stamp-sized piece of white gauze stuck to the skin with tape.
    ‘We weren’t allowed to,’ Raphael added.
    ‘What wasn’t allowed?’ she asked. Fear gripped her heart.
    ‘Our wriss-banns . . .’
    She began to peel off the tape. Her hands were shaking. She felt a great rage taking hold of her, even though she still wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. Carefully she removed the piece of gauze. The skin beneath it was red and swollen, but she could clearly see three small black spots.
    ‘What in heaven’s name . . . ?’ she said. A terrible thought occurred to her. She rubbed at the spots, but they did not disappear, not even when she wet the tip of her finger with saliva. She looked at Gabriel and Michael, who were staring into space. Hoping that she was wrong, she went over to Gabriel, who was standing with his back to the wall. Taking him by the shoulders, she turned him around. On his back was a similar square of gauze. Carefully she peeled it off and what she had suspected proved to be all too true: his back had the same little black dots, but this time there were only two. For a moment she stood there perplexed. Oh, it can’t be, she thought to herself, yet at the same time she just knew that Dr Hoppe would indeed be capable of such a thing. She turned to Michael and although there was no need to examine him, she did it anyway, if only to fuel her indignation. She pulled off Michael’s patch and discovered a single spot, the black ink a permanent blot on the boy’s skin.
    ‘Stay here,’ she ordered the boys and ran out of the bathroom.
     
    After Frau Maenhout’s outburst Wolfheim was gripped by an outbreak of gossip fever. Irma Nüssbaum was the first carrier, and she was responsible for spreading the virus, which found an easy target in the womenfolk, spreading from mouth to mouth like wildfire. For weeks Dr Hoppe’s waiting room was even more congested than usual, and even though the patients swore they were suffering from ringing in the ears, headaches, a stitch in the side or dizziness, it was clear that they were in truth suffering from one and the same stubborn ailment. Each one had her own explanation for Charlotte Maenhout’s tantrum, and would air her opinion, preferably while in the waiting room for all to hear, in the hope that her words would reach as far as the examination room or kitchen. Remarkably enough, it was never the doctor who was criticised. Odette Surmont suspected that the former teacher had grown severely depressed since her retirement; Kaat Blum, from Kirchstrasse, maintained that Charlotte Maenhout must be abusing the children herself, and Rosette Bayer said it had to be jealousy, adding that the doctor would have to be vigilant, and make sure his babysitter didn’t run off with his three sons. On one point, however, the ladies were all in agreement: Dr Hoppe ought to give Charlotte Maenhout her marching