Christian Jungersen - The Exception

Rasmus, you were always loving and kind, helping me whenever I needed it. But I couldn’t help feeling that I was a nuisance to you. It was never like that with Iben.

At times when I couldn’t do a thing for myself and needed hospital treatment and had to be hauled downstairs to the taxi, she never acted as if she was sacrificing herself. I didn’t feel I was a problem. Or when she went shopping for me, helped me dress — things like that. For years she was with me and saw more of me than even you did. And all the while we had such a good time. We laughed a lot.

I hate her now for what she has made me suffer over these last few months. That’s a fact. But, I’ll never find a friend like her again. She really was special: an exception.

I remember one time when I was in the sitting room and you were in the kitchen. And suddenly I heard a crash.

At first I actually felt pleased. He’s dropped something, I thought. Maybe he’s poured boiling water all over his feet. Just for once, I thought, he’ll know what it’s like not to have full control of your hands. But it didn’t take long at all before I started to worry.

I called out to you: ‘Oh, God! Rasmus? Did you drop something? Did you hurt yourself?’

Of course you didn’t know what had been going on inside my head. In its own small way, that moment seemed like the sort of Dissociative Identity Disorder that Iben was always talking about.

Rasmus, I am so very sorry about what happened on the stairs. I simply don’t know what came over me. You are the only one who knows how badly I feel about it. You are the only one who can understand.

God alone knows how much Iben heard. It wasn’t my intention to push you out through the window. I have no idea why it made me so blindly furious when you insisted that your spyware proved that I had sent those emails.

I gave you a shove. Nobody can be sorrier than I am now. Am I truly sick in the head, Rasmus? Is that it?

They’re sweet now. They speak to her and laugh with her. Everything has changed completely — so much so that Anne-Lise finds it hard to believe the way things were not so long ago.

Paul is different too, quite unlike his old self. He is in the office much more and is suddenly of the opinion that it is ‘simply natural that the functions of DCGI and DIHR should be coordinated’. He is no longer prepared to fight to maintain the independence of the Centre.

Anne-Lise cannot make him out. Only recently he did everything he could to help the Centre survive, even trying to force Frederik from the board. Was that some kind of macho thing? Could the reason be that any organisation only has room for one man of their kind?

The office was closed for the day after Malene’s death. The following day Iben brought in a red rose, which she placed on Malene’s desk. The next morning Iben replaced it with a fresh rose and again the next day. It was as if Iben believed that Malene was a saint and that her desk and chair were sacred.

When people turned up to use the library, Iben lectured them at length about how her own survival had been due to a ‘psychological miracle’. Paul told her repeatedly that if she felt like staying at home she should, but Iben didn’t seem to get the hint. Perhaps she wanted to be at work.

Every day people phoned to offer their condolences and find out what happened. At times, it became too much for Iben and Anne-Lise took over.

‘Iben was climbing this ladder on the houseboat, so she couldn’t follow what happened on the quay. But a lot of the warehouses have been converted into flats and people were watching from their windows because they had heard the shot Iben fired at Zigic. The witnesses all say that Zigic was aiming his gun at Iben. But at the moment he was ready to pull the trigger, Malene called out. No one knows why. She threw herself in front of the gun. Iben was then able to reach the roof and that saved her. The metal ridge protected her.’

At some point in every single phone call, the person would wonder about Malene’s brave act. They wanted to know more and Anne-Lise’s replies became more and more precise.

‘Yes, it’s true. Quite remarkable. I’ve never heard of anything like it … Of course, but what Iben did in Kenya was different. She says so herself, you know. After escaping, when she ran back to the hostages, she didn’t think of it as taking a risk. She simply couldn’t imagine that the Kenyan police might side with the hostage-takers.’ …

‘Yes, how true that is. Malene was very special. We were so proud to have worked with her. No, I suppose we didn’t realise that she had this in her.’ Anne-Lise isn’t completely sorry that Malene is dead.

Some time after Malene’s funeral, Iben puts a large portrait of Malene on the bulletin board. She stops bringing in roses and also suggests to Anne-Lise that the two of them should leave their desks in the library and move into the Winter Garden.

Taking over Malene’s place so soon after her death makes Anne-Lise uneasy, but Iben says that it’s OK with her. Paul and Camilla agree.

Malene’s things are put away on a shelf behind Iben and Anne-Lise takes the seat opposite her. Anne-Lise puts her photo of Henrik and the children almost exactly where Malene’s plastic troll used to be.

Until a new project manager is appointed, Iben takes over Malene’s tasks. They stop speaking incessantly about Malene during the breaks and move onto other things. As they continue working together on the special Turkey issue, the talk flows easily between the desks in just the way Anne-Lise used to dream it would. Everything is as she hoped it would be when she left Lyngby Central Library. The only problems troubling Anne-Lise are rooted inside her own mind.

Look how they smile, she thinks, sweet as pie, as if they never tried to drive me insane. Of course they tell themselves that never happened. It makes them feel good. And how much better would it be if I managed to forget everything as well? But how can I forgive them? How will I ever be able to trust anyone the way I did just a year and a half ago?

One evening she agrees to go with Henrik to a tasting arranged by his wine club.

He beams and gives her a kiss. ‘You’re my old Anne-Lise again!’

The tasting takes place in a large, specialist wine shop in Østerbro. It is crowded, and everyone seems to be in a good mood. Some come straight from work and are still in their suits. Others, like Henrik, have changed their clothes.

A couple of Henrik’s old friends from university started the club and most of their circle joined it, mainly because it was a nice way to keep in touch. Henrik and Anne-Lise usually meet many of their old gang.

Nicola rushes up to greet Anne-Lise. ‘It’s great that you’ll be at Jutta and Stig’s! And thank you so much for the invitation to your place. I’m so pleased that you’re your old self again!’

Anne-Lise and Nicola see much more of each other these days.

The shop’s proprietor introduces the first wine and the first round of glasses is being filled at the long, French-style dining table in the middle of the room.

As one wine follows another, several people come over to say how delighted they are to see Anne-Lise. They must have been talking about me more than I ever realised, she thinks. It’s as if she’s been away in hospital with a disease or something.

It all becomes too much for her. She finds Henrik and nods towards a narrow passage between two walls of boxes of wine. They slip away from the others.

‘Henrik, listen. It’s good that nobody has noticed anything different about me, but it isn’t right what they’re all saying: I’m not “the old Anne-Lise”.’

Henrik looks stunned, takes a step back and hits his head against the protruding corner of a box. She must have sounded much more adamant than she intended.