The Angel Maker

by Brijs, Stefan

  ‘The investigation will focus, first and foremost, on the cloned-mouse experiment that is being disputed by Dr Solar and Dr Grath. Dr Hoppe will have to give a demonstration of his method, and the commission will check to see if the claims he makes in the article in Cell are corroborated by his actual research data.’

  The research data were a muddled labyrinth in which only Victor would be able to find his way - Cremer knew that. Besides, Victor would refuse to demonstrate his technique, for he was bound to consider the entire investigation a waste of time. Rex knew that too. And yet he made a split-second decision not to say anything. The commission members would just have to see for themselves how difficult it was to work with Victor Hoppe. Then they would understand that even he, as dean, had had no say in the whole affair. It might even be to his advantage if the commission did conclude that the whole thing was a sham. Then he could simply make it plain that he’d had nothing to do with it - that Victor had planned and executed the entire thing all by himself.

  ‘What do you say, Dr Cremer?’ asked the vice chancellor.

  The dean was still staring at the photographs, wondering how he could ever have allowed himself to be swept along like that. He remembered his excitement when Victor had shown him the photos, but also how shocking it had been to find out that they were human embryos. And he had done nothing - taken no action. Not even when Victor had shown him what the child would look like at birth.

  ‘Dr Cremer?’ The vice chancellor’s voice startled him out of his musings.

  Rex looked up and, putting one hand to his chin, said, ‘Yes, I do think it’s important for us to find out if anything has been misrepresented. ’

  When Victor found out that there was to be an investigation into his activities, he went straight to the vice chancellor to submit his resignation. The vice chancellor told him that that would be interpreted by the outside world as a confession of guilt. If Victor was convinced that he had done nothing wrong, then it would be best to wait for the outcome of the investigation. To Victor, the very fact that there was to be an investigation was a sign of their lack of confidence in him, but the vice chancellor assured him that the probe was not intended so much to uncover lies as to shine a brighter light on the truth, and so refute Solar and Grath’s criticism. Once Victor had thought it over, he decided he could live with that, and said nothing more about resigning.

  He did insist on absenting himself while the investigation was being conducted, because he couldn’t bear to watch strangers messing with his life’s work. When the vice chancellor asked him if he wouldn’t agree just once to give a demonstration of his methods, he replied that it was all clearly described in his article, and that the rest was a question of technique, which meant practice, practice, practice. He considered himself entitled, therefore, to keep his technique a secret, in order to prevent others from taking credit for it. The vice chancellor objected, saying that he was not making the commission’s task any easier. But Victor craftily turned the tables on him by answering that it would give them the opportunity to demonstrate their own competence.

  In his conversations with the commission members Rex Cremer minimised his own role in the affair. He granted that as dean he should have exerted more control, but in his own defence he argued that, when he had been hired, Dr Hoppe had insisted on complete independence. He had made frequent attempts to find out more about Dr Hoppe’s methods, but the latter had never agreed to divulge details. If that was so, the commission wanted to know, why had Cremer not asked more questions? Cremer told them that Dr Hoppe had managed to fob him off each time with his claim that it was just a matter of technique. One of the commission members asked if he still believed that was true. ‘No,’ he said. And reiterated it.

  The inquiry had been in full swing for a month when Cremer received a phone call at home from Victor, who had been staying away from the university and had returned to Bonn in the interim. He wasn’t particularly surprised that Victor was calling him out of the blue; he expected that Victor wanted to find out what progress the commission had made with their investigation.

  ‘Victor! It’s been a while,’ he said in a neutral tone. He was determined to keep his distance.

  ‘I need your help,’ said Victor, coming straight to the point.

  ‘Victor, the commission is still investigating. I can’t tell you anything. I don’t know anything. They’re just doing their job, and—’

  ‘It isn’t about the commission,’ Victor replied firmly. ‘I’m not bothered about that.’

  Rex was startled, but also wary. He wasn’t about to let himself be talked into anything again. ‘What’s it about then?’ he asked, trying to keep his voice as light as possible.

  ‘The embryos,’ said Victor.

  Rex let out an audible sigh. ‘OK, what’s the matter with the embryos?’ he asked, but quickly caught himself. ‘Which embryos?’

  ‘The clones. My clones.’

  ‘Victor, I don’t know if I can—’

  ‘Rex, I need your help!’ was the desperate cry.

  Rex was flabbergasted. He had never heard Victor sound like this. He was always so self-confident, and had never even asked for advice, let alone help.

  ‘What’s the matter, then?’

  ‘There are four of them . . . There’s going to be four . . .’ Victor blurted out. He was talking so fast that it was even more difficult to understand him than usual. ‘Four, don’t you understand? It’s too many! It wasn’t what I—’

  ‘Calm down, Victor!’ shouted Rex, but then was appalled at his own tone. Taking a deep breath, he said, ‘I’m trying to follow what you mean.’

  He knew perfectly well what Victor meant, but had no idea what he thought of it, nor if he ought to believe it. When Victor had shown him the pictures of the five embryos six weeks ago, he had told him that he’d introduced all five into the woman’s womb in the hope that at least one would implant itself. Rex had thought it rather a large number - standard procedure was two to four embryos, at least in the case of in vitro fertilisation. Now it looked as if only one of the embryos had been rejected, and the other four had implanted themselves and begun to develop. If it were true and everything took its normal course, then there would be a quadruple birth. Four clones in one go. If it were true. But he didn’t believe it. And, what was more, he wanted to have nothing to do with it.

  ‘I don’t see the problem, Victor,’ he said dismissively. ‘Four out of five embryos. I’d call that a success.’

  ‘It’s too many.’

  ‘Couldn’t you have foreseen that? Or perhaps you underestimated yourself?’

  He was conscious of the derisive tone, and wondered if Victor would notice.

  ‘I wanted to be certain,’ said Victor.

  ‘So, now you are.’

  ‘But there’s four of them. I don’t know if she’ll want them. If she’ll want to raise—’

  ‘So? In that case you can take a couple of them yourself.’

  ‘I can’t. I don’t know how—’

  ‘Well, then you will have to face up to your responsibilities,’ said Rex, in a rather paternalistic tone of voice. ‘It goes without saying. If you decide to bring children into the world, you have an obligation to look after them.’

  Amused, he waited for an answer, which failed to come.

  ‘Victor?’

  But the phone had already gone dead.

  The commission completed its inquiry in two months. In the report that was delivered to the vice chancellor on 30 May 1984 there wasn’t a word about fraud, or deception, or fabricated data. The independent investigators had found no proof of any such thing. In no way, however, did this mean they endorsed Victor Hoppe’s experiments or imply that his results could be accepted as genuine. On the contrary, the commission had determined that Victor Hoppe’s notes were ‘riddled with deletions, illegible passages, muddled statements and contradictory data’. Consequently, the commission had concluded that ‘even the most elementary scientific guideli
nes had not been followed’ and it therefore arrived at the verdict that ‘the value of Dr Victor Hoppe’s entire inquiry must be brought into question’.

  I’m proud of you, Victor. I’m truly proud of you.

  That was what his father had wanted to say, on the phone, when Victor told him the news. He had been prepared to say it.

  But the tone in which his son had informed him that he had passed his medical degree held him back. It was a tone of complete indifference. As usual. And he thought, Can’t you just be proud of yourself for once, Victor? Shout it to the rooftops, for crying out loud!

  He did not voice those thoughts. He simply said, ‘That’s very good, Victor. Excellent.’ As if someone had asked him how he liked some culinary dish.

  And when he hung up, he cursed himself. Also as usual.

  He started the letter with ‘Dear Victor’, but immediately crossed that out. Then he tried ‘My son’, and ‘Son’, but went with a simple ‘Victor’ in the end.

  The vice chancellor of Aachen University summoned Victor Hoppe to his office in the early afternoon of 27 June 1966. He glanced at the young man and asked himself if they had ever met before. Probably not, or he would doubtless have remembered him.

  The vice chancellor had been informed by Dr Bergmann, the dean of the College of Biomedical Sciences, that Victor Hoppe had graduated cum laude the previous day, and that he had always been a quiet, hard worker, his innate talents boosted by his extraordinary persistence - a young man of few words but abundant results. Promising. Dr Bergmann hoped that Victor Hoppe would pursue his doctorate in one of his college’s departments.

  ‘Is he emotional? Will the news . . .’ the vice chancellor had enquired at the end of the conversation.

  The dean had been unable to say.

  The young man sat there rather stiffly. His head was slightly bowed, arms and legs crossed. A defensive posture, the vice chancellor knew, indicated shyness, fear, but also reticence.

  ‘Victor,’ the vice chancellor began after sitting down behind his desk.

  The young man shifted in his seat, but did not look up.

  ‘Victor, allow me first to congratulate you on your diploma. Your professors have sung your praises.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ was the polite response.

  The nasal voice took the vice chancellor aback for a second. It required some effort to remember what he had been intending to say.

  Congratulations. Condolences. Those were the words.

  ‘But I am so sorry to have to offer you my condolences as well,’ said the vice chancellor.

  Victor Hoppe still did not look up.

  ‘Your father has passed away,’ the vice chancellor went on. He tried to inject some sympathy into his voice.

  The announcement did not seem to startle the young man. He just nodded a couple of times. Perhaps he had felt it coming. Or perhaps his father had let him know what he was planning to do, or had already made earlier attempts. The vice chancellor wondered if he should tell him anyway.

  ‘You are not surprised?’ he tried.

  Victor shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘You did see it coming, then,’ the vice chancellor concluded.

  Now Victor shook his head.

  ‘What was I supposed to see coming?’

  The vice chancellor folded his hands together and he sighed. ‘Your father made his own decision,’ he said slowly. ‘About dying. He took his own life.’

  This did not evoke any emotion at first.

  ‘How?’ Victor finally asked. ‘Do you know how?’

  He knew how, but should he tell him? Was that his job? If the boy wanted to know, he had that right, of course. But how to tell him?

  ‘From a tree,’ he said, hoping that that would make it clear enough.

  The boy nodded and then said something the vice chancellor didn’t quite follow.

  ‘Like Judas, then.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  Victor shook his head and remained silent.

  ‘Is there anyone who can come and pick you up?’ the vice chancellor asked, concerned. ‘To take you home? Can I call someone for you?’

  ‘No, Vice Chancellor, thank you,’ Victor answered. And after a brief pause, letting his hands fall into his lap, he asked, ‘Do I have to go home? Is that really necessary?’

  ‘I should think so,’ said the vice chancellor, with a frown. ‘The police will want to ask you some questions. Nothing out of the ordinary. It’s standard procedure, in the case of . . .’ He couldn’t get the word out, so quickly changed the subject.

  ‘Do you know what you are going to do? I mean, what’s next for you? Now that you have graduated.’

  Victor shrugged.

  ‘I haven’t thought about it yet.’

  ‘Your professors would very much like you to pursue your doctorate here at the university. You could go far, with a talent like yours. It would be a shame to waste it.’

  The vice chancellor thought he caught just a flash of something that might have been a reaction, but it was so faint that he could easily have imagined it. He decided to return to the subject some other time.

  ‘Shall I ask someone to take you home?’

  Victor shook his head and stood up. ‘No, thank you. I’ll manage.’

  ‘I hope so. But if there is anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to come and see me.’

  ‘I’ll do that, Vice Chancellor. Thank you.’

  ‘You’re welcome, Victor. And again, my condolences.’

  Someone from the police social-work department gave Victor the letter. The envelope had been opened. To rule out foul play, the man explained. He said he was sorry.

  When the man had gone, Victor read the letter. He wasn’t really hoping to find any answers in there, since he didn’t have any questions. It did shock him, nevertheless.

  Victor, inside every person there are hidden forces that are stronger than either willpower or reason. You can do as much good as is in your power, yet in the end you’ll still have to atone for the evil that you have done. To do only good, therefore, is not enough. You must also vanquish the evil. And I have done too little of that. Alas, for me there is no way back.

  You are not to blame. Remember that. You have done better than anyone ever expected of you. You ought to be proud of that.

  Your mother would have been proud of you too. She was a good and devout Christian. That is another thing you must always remember. I know that she would have liked to give you all her love, but inside her, too, there was something that was more powerful than she was. I hope that you can forgive her.

  You don’t need to forgive me. I do not deserve it. I should have accepted my responsibility, but I never did. That sort of thing is unforgivable. If you bring children into the world, you have an obligation to look after them. Never forget that.

  Speaking of which: everything here is yours, naturally. The house, the furniture, the money, and of course the practice. You have always wanted to become a doctor: now there is nothing and nobody standing in your way.

  I do wish you much success and happiness. Your father.

  His father’s words had shaken Victor. Not what he had done, or his death, but his words. They shook the very foundation upon which Victor had built his world. He had always assumed that doing good was sufficient, and that evil needed only to be avoided. After all, evil was out to crush anyone who attempted to do good. But now it seemed that it might be the other way round. It was an entirely new insight for him. It set him thinking, but more than that: for the first time in his life he began to have doubts. About what he knew. About what he had done. And about what he was going to do. And Father Kaisergruber’s visit that same afternoon only made matters worse.

  Father Kaisergruber had gone to see Victor Hoppe about the funeral arrangements with a heavy heart. He wanted to keep the visit as short as possible, and therefore came straight to the point.

  ‘I’d prefer to keep it understated, I hope you understand.’


  ‘No, I don’t understand,’ answered Victor.

  ‘It’s not permitted. It isn’t really permitted.’

  ‘What isn’t permitted?’

  ‘A church service, for your father.’

  ‘But I don’t want one in any case.’

  ‘It is what he wanted.’

  ‘What he wanted?’

  ‘He left instructions. For the undertaker. Haven’t you seen them?’

  Victor shook his head.

  ‘He wanted to be buried next to his wife, your mother. He wanted it for her sake. It’s not really allowed, but we’ll just let that slide. But it has to be done quickly, and it has to be low key. No choir, no eulogies. Restraint.’

  ‘Why isn’t it allowed?’

  ‘Because of . . . you know. Everyone knows about it. Everyone could see him.’

  ‘But because of what?’ Victor persisted, to the priest’s annoyance.

  ‘God will not permit it.’

  ‘What won’t God permit?’

  He was arguing like a child, thought the priest, every answer met with another question.

  To head off further discussion, he decided to make it quite clear. ‘Suicide,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Where does it say that?’

  ‘In the Bible.’

  ‘Where in the Bible?’

  The priest began to feel a bit hot under the collar. Rarely did anyone contradict him. And the worst thing was that he didn’t have an answer, because he didn’t know where in the Bible it was written that suicide was not permitted. He mentioned a verse nevertheless. At the end of the Gospel according to St Matthew, referring to Judas’s suicide.

  ‘Matthew 27, verse 18.’

  ‘For he knew that for envy they had delivered him,’ responded Victor, to the priest’s amazement, adding, ‘It isn’t in the Bible. There’s nothing about it in the Bible.’