Mr. Monk Goes to Germany (14 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Mr. Monk Visits Freakville

Monk and I followed Dr. Rahner’s van in our rental car along a winding road that went deep into Spessart Forest. The deeper we got into the woods, the more uncomfortable Monk became.

“There are a lot of trees,” Monk said, hugging himself.

“I think it’s nice,” I said.

“Trees scare me.”

“A tree can’t hurt you,” I said.

“You obviously didn’t see
The Wizard of Oz,
” he said.

“You mean the scene where the trees come alive?”

Monk shuddered. “It was terrifying. I had nightmares for years.”

“It was make-believe. Trees don’t really talk and throw apples at you.”

“I know that,” Monk said. “But they are big and dark and surround you. They are rough and sticky and sharp. They block out the light and have strange creatures living in their branches.”

“Like birds,” I said.

“And snakes, spiders, ants, bees, and things in cocoons,” Monk said. “The only thing scarier than a tree is a cocoon.”

“What can a cocoon do to you?”

“You could get trapped in one,” Monk said.

“It’s not the cocoon you should be afraid of,” I told him. “It’s the caterpillar big enough to make one that you could get caught in.”

“It could be out there,” Monk said, looking into the trees.

“No, it couldn’t,” I said. “Caterpillars that big don’t exist.”

“Dwarfs have lived in these woods for centuries. Who knows what other freakish creatures are living here, too?” Monk said. “Speaking of which, there’s no way Dr. Rahner could have established his colony of freaks without Hauptkriminalkommissar Stoffmacher knowing about it.”

That hadn’t occurred to me.

“So the police knew who the eleven-fingered man was that we were looking for from the get-go and they didn’t say a word,” I said. “They were protecting him.”

“Unless there are a lot of men with eleven fingers in Lohr, which, given its history, is entirely possible.”

We came to a curve and a sign on the road that announced Sicherer Hafen. We passed the sign and almost immediately came upon the purely decorative wooden gates of the resort, which opened onto a gravel courtyard in front of a picturesque main house.

The entrance to the resort brought back long-forgotten memories from my childhood of my parents taking me to Santa’s Village, an amusement park in the Santa Cruz Mountains.

The entrance to Santa’s Village was a log-cabin lodge that was covered year-round with fake snow and icicles. Once inside the park, you could meet Santa Claus at the lollipop tree, visit the enchanted forest on a candy cane sleigh pulled by real reindeer, see Santa’s elves at work in the toy factory, eat sugarplums in Mrs. Claus’ cozy kitchen, and ride the glimmering ornaments on an enormous rotating Christmas tree.

There weren’t any reindeer or candy canes at Sicherer Hafen, but the resort had the same woodsy, warm, storybook feel as Santa’s Village. The buildings weren’t as fanciful and there were satellite dishes mounted on roofs, but I still expected to hear the sound of sleigh bells wafting from the trees and Christmas music playing from hidden speakers as I stepped out of the car.

We joined Dr. Rahner, Dr. Kroger, and a dozen other shrinks outside the main house.

“We don’t usually welcome visitors, but this is a special occasion, ” Dr. Rahner said. “Please do not take pictures or stare at the guests. Remember that this is a vacation community, a place where our residents and guests can relax and be themselves. That fragile peace is very important to all of us here at Sicherer Hafen and I would appreciate it if you didn’t do anything to disturb it.”

Monk screamed and pointed at the trees.

“Grizzly bear! Run for your lives!” Monk ran to hide behind our car.

I looked toward the trees and at first had the same instinctive reaction as Monk until I noticed that this bear was wearing cutoffs and holding a volleyball under his hairy arm.

It wasn’t a bear but a shirtless man with an unbelievably thick coat of fur over his entire body. I’d never seen anyone like him and, despite Dr. Rahner’s request, I couldn’t stop staring.

“That is not a bear,” Dr. Rahner said. “That’s Franco Tozza, our activities director.”

“The first activity he should consider is a haircut,” Monk said, rising from his hiding spot.

“That is just the kind of ignorance and heartlessness that people come here to escape,” Dr. Rahner said. “Franco was born with hypertrichosis, a genetic condition that causes excessive hair growth. It can be a source of great embarrassment and shame in mainstream society. But here it’s not. Here he can walk with pride. That is the beauty of Sicherer Hafen.”

Franco stopped in front of Monk and smiled. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

“I know,” Monk said. “But you do.”

There were gasps at Monk’s inappropriate comment, but Franco didn’t seem offended, though I have to admit it’s hard to read the expression on someone’s face when he looks like Chewbacca.

“He’s right. Ordinarily, I’m the one who has to be ashamed, who has to hide his body and try to fit in. But not at Sicherer Hafen. That’s what makes this place that Dr. Rahner founded so special.” Franco spoke with a strong Italian accent that made him a bit difficult to understand. That, and the hair over his mouth. “People come from across Europe to stay here. We offer all the amenities and activities that other time-share resorts do and something more: true freedom to be yourself.”

“I know you are all feeling uncomfortable right now,” Dr. Rahner said to the group.

“That’s an understatement,” Monk said in a whiny voice.

“But what you’re feeling is an absolutely normal, instinctivereaction to encountering other humans with physical anomalies.”

“What would running away screaming be?” Monk said.

“An overreaction,” Dr. Rahner said sternly. “Think about how you are feeling at this moment. Now imagine how we feel every day, walking among all of you.”

“I’ve got a thick skin,” Franco said lightheartedly.

“I bet you do,” Monk said.

If I had been next to Monk, I would have jabbed him with my elbow. Instead, I tried to send him a jabbing look. I don’t think I succeeded.

“The team is waiting for me on the volleyball court,” Franco said, spinning the ball on his finger. “I hope you learn something from your visit. If you get a chance, stop by and watch us play.”

He walked away and at that same moment a young woman emerged from the main building. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top and greeted us with a stewardess smile.

“I’m Katie, the sales director,” she said. “It’s an honor to have you all here with us today. I’m going to give you the grand tour. Please don’t hesitate to ask me any questions along the way.”

Monk raised his hand. “I have a question.”

“Yes, sir?” she said.

“Will you be handing out blindfolds?”

Katie laughed. “Our community is exclusive and unique, but it’s not a secret. We want you to see all that we have to offer.”

She led us into the main building. It was like a ski lodge, with a grand stone fireplace and a bar. There were several people in resort wear sitting around, reading books, sipping drinks, and quietly talking among themselves.

I saw female Siamese twins, one engaged in conversation with a hunchbacked man, the other reading the German translation of a James Patterson novel. A bearded woman played cards with a dwarf and a man with huge ears. I didn’t let my eyes linger on anyone for very long.

“This is our clubhouse common room, where everyone can gather to relax and get to know one another,” Katie said. “Every night we have a cocktail party with free food and entertainment. We also have a full library, a billiard room, a computer room, a state-of-the-art theater, and a restaurant.”

Monk looked up at the high wood-beamed ceiling. “I wish they had blindfolds. They really, really need blindfolds.”

“What are the criteria a person has to meet to be a guest here?” Dr. Kroger asked Katie.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Monk said, practically shrieking.

“You have to have been born with a physical anomaly,” Katie said, ignoring Monk’s comment, “and you must be recommended by Dr. Rahner or a current resident. After that, you have to pass an interview with our residents’ council.”

“What about to work here?” someone asked.

“Our guests do all the cooking, cleaning, and maintenance of the property,” she said. “It’s one of the things that create the vibrant sense of community you feel everywhere you go here. Everyone has to chip in and help out.”

She led us outside. The condominium buildings were similar in design to the main house and were arranged in a loose half circle around a large swimming pool and a picnic area, where a barbecue was going on. A man with a tiny head on a disproportionately normal body grilled chicken, spare-ribs, and steaks and doled out servings to a line of people that included a midget, a woman with an adult body and two tiny arms, and a man with a tail sticking out of a hole cut in the back of his swim trunks.

I glanced at a table and saw a young woman licking barbecue sauce off her lips with a forked tongue. Another man chewed at a sparerib with his fangs. He met my eyes and I quickly shifted my gaze to the pool, where a woman with a face like an ape made a perfect dive. Another woman did the backstroke across the pool, kicking at the water with her webbed feet. I saw a man with four nipples sunning himself on a chaise longue. He whispered something to the woman on the chaise next to him. She laughed and wiggled her twelve toes in delight.

I turned to see how Monk was taking all this. “This place is unbelievable,” I said.

“It certainly is.” Monk was looking down and holding his hand against his brow as if he was protecting himself from the glare of the sun.

“Are you covering your eyes?” I whispered.

“Hell yes,” he replied.

“Do most of the residents live here full-time?” someone asked.

She shook her head. “Franco and I are the only full-time residents. Everyone else here is a member-guest.”

“What does it cost?” asked another shrink.

Dr. Rahner answered. “Each person pays a five-thousand-euro entrance fee, six hundred euros in monthly dues, and about thirty-five thousand euros to purchase a time-share apartment, depending on the size of the unit.”

“Freedom isn’t cheap,” I said.

“It never is,” Dr. Rahner said. “That’s the sad truth.”

“But you’re making money,” I said. Call me cynical.

“It all goes back into the community,” he said. “I do it for them.”

“How many apartments are there?” Dr. Kroger asked. I think he just wanted to change the subject.

“Two hundred and twenty,” Dr. Rahner said.

“My God,” Monk said. “That’s a lot of freaks.”

I hate to admit it, but I was thinking the same thing. The place reminded me of the alien cantina scene in
Star Wars.
The one person who didn’t seem to fit was Katie.

During the tour, I’d given her the once-over a few times, looking for abnormalities, but as far as I could see she had ten fingers and everything else about her body seemed perfect, even enviably so.

“Forgive me if the question I am about to raise is an indelicate one,” I began.

“It can’t be more indelicate than his last comment.” Katie glowered at Monk.

“You said that only people with physical anomalies are allowed to stay here,” I said.

“That’s our one ironclad rule,” she said, “so we can maintain our unique atmosphere.”

“Of horror,” Monk mumbled.

“But you live here full-time,” I said, “and yet you appear to be, for lack of a better term, physically normal.”

“That’s why you should never judge people on appearances, ” she said, “but on their character.”

“You’re the only normal person in this place,” Monk said.

She smiled. “I’m a hermaphrodite.”

Monk squeaked and turned his eyes skyward again. I also looked away, because I was afraid my eyes might inadvertently drift to places they shouldn’t, looking for signs to confirm her declaration.

I didn’t want to imagine what her resident’s interview was like. But I did anyway. I almost squeaked, too.

As Katie started to lead the group away, Dr. Rahner pulled Monk aside. Dr. Kroger and I followed.

“Excuse me, Mr. Monk. Here comes someone I’d like you to meet.” Dr. Rahner gestured to a man who was walking by, carrying a plate of meat from the barbecue. “This is Hubert Bock, a lawyer from Munich. Hubert, this is Adrian Monk, a famous detective from San Francisco.”

“That’s a very lovely city.” Bock reached out for a handshake. He had six fingers on his right hand.

Monk shoved both of his hands into his pockets. “Yes, it is. Everything is so symmetrical.”

“I’ve been there a lot,” Bock said, “but I’ve never noticed that.”

“You’ve been there?” Monk said.

“Probably a dozen times in the last ten years. I’m in-house counsel for a German pharmaceutical company that has offices there,” he said. “I think it may be the most European city in America. What sort of detective work do you do?”

Monk glanced at Dr. Rahner, who bent over to tie his shoe and gave him a smug smile. The doctor had made his point.

“I catch murderers,” Monk said.

“That’s great,” Bock said with a forced smile. “Well, I hope you enjoy your visit to Germany and that you find some symmetry here, too. It was nice meeting you.”

Bock went to a table and sat down.

“You see, Mr. Monk, polydactylism is far more common than you thought,” Dr. Rahner said, straightening up again. “Maybe Hubert is the man you have been looking for.”

“Maybe he is,” Monk said.

I was as surprised by the admission as Dr. Rahner and Dr. Kroger appeared to be.

“I’m proud of you, Adrian,” Dr. Kroger said. “I had my doubts about you being able to see past your own preconceptions, but you proved me wrong. This is a significant step forward.”

“I think it is, too,” Monk said, and turned to Dr. Rahner. “I let myself become blinded by what I saw in my head rather than observing what was right in front of my eyes. But after what I have seen here today, I am certain of one thing.”