Christian Jungersen - The Exception

He continues in his high-pitched voice: ‘You know the way everyone harps on about how odd it is that concentration-camp officers would go home from work and behave like decent loving fathers? What’s so odd about it? We’re all like that.’

Iben nods and says she agrees. It seems she’s not in such a great hurry to get home after all. They chat away and then she launches into one of her spiels.

‘We let rip with idealism and grand words, but it’s nothing but rationalisations of our own egoistic behaviour. Not only do we lie to others; we also lie to ourselves. Each one of us lives inside a house of mirrors — our own instinctive self-righteousness distorts the way we view reality so that we can justify our actions to ourselves. And there’s no way we can escape.’

Iben and Erik are completely on the same wavelength. Camilla, however, can easily see how badly Anne-Lise takes it, and feels she can’t stand much more of it either.

Earlier Camilla might have shouted, ‘What about Malene? Everyone is capable of choosing to be an exception from your theories! Otherwise life wouldn’t be worth living.’ But there’s no point in saying, ‘What about Malene? If you’re a guilt-ridden murderer and sick in the head, then you can be an exception.’

Anne-Lise suddenly gets up and hurries off to the toilet. She’s behaving just like she used to.

On her way home Camilla collects Dennis from an after-school club and takes him with her to the supermarket.

When they arrive home, Finn’s car isn’t there yet. They’re just inside the door when the phone rings. She puts the shopping bags down and runs to answer.

A man’s voice is speaking English. ‘Hi, Camilla.’

She recognises the voice instantly. The skin down the back of her neck and spine seems to contract. If he’s using his mobile phone he could be nearby. Right outside the door, for all she knows! He’s capable of anything. He might get inside her home. It wouldn’t matter a damn to him if Finn were there. She concentrates on hiding her fear from her son and covers the mouthpiece of the telephone.

‘Dennis, it’s for me. Why don’t you run along to play Counter-Strike on your dad’s computer?’

Dennis shouts, ‘Yeaaah!’ and rushes away upstairs. With Dennis out of earshot, she speaks to the caller.

‘What do you want?’

She knows already, of course. He wants what he always wants when he’s in Denmark and has the time.

‘I hate you!’ Camilla shouts. ‘You sold yourself and all your chances in life. Zigic had your name on his list. I know the kind of things you’ve done for him. You’ve worked for him for years.’

He only makes a snorting noise.

It upsets her even more, but she tells herself to remain cool or Dennis will hear her. She musters all her self-control.

‘Dragan, remember that I know you well. I know that you don’t have to be like this.’

‘And you know that I can get into your house any time I like. Or turn up where you work. Camilla, for all you know, I could be in your bedroom now.’

She takes a deep breath. ‘You think that when you say things like that you’ll make me want you. I don’t. It’s no good. I think you’re a loser.’

Dennis is standing in the doorway. ‘Hey, Mum, who are you talking to?’

‘No one special, sweetie.’

‘It’s got to be someone.’

‘Yep, that’s right. Look, why don’t you go out and play ball in the garden?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’d like you to.’

‘Can’t I play CounterStrike now?’

‘No, not any more. Go to the garden.’

‘Aw, Mu-uum.’

Once she is sure her son has gone outside, she whispers into the mouthpiece: ‘I don’t want you any more. You don’t understand me at all.’

Dragan laughs. ‘I’m staying at the Plaza and I’ll be in my room tonight. My name is Guido Pirandello.’

She can see Dennis. He runs up to the window, presses his face against it, grimaces and giggles. She tries to smile back at her little boy and speak to Dragan at the same time.

‘Dragan, I’ll report you. I’ll tell the police where you are. Don’t phone me again!’

She slams the receiver down. Afterwards she collapses on the sofa and cries, listening for Finn or Dennis at the door.

Finn doesn’t return until about an hour later. She hugs him and kisses him warmly. They chat, mostly about the pipes Finn is supplying for the office kitchen in a large clothing company. She has made fishcakes for supper, served with boiled potatoes and her own home-made sour-cream-and-mustard dressing.

When Finn has helped with clearing the table, they brew a pot of tea and settle down to watch Good Evening, Denmark and News & Views on the television.

Later on, as she makes her way to the Plaza Hotel, she thinks: He’s the Devil! Her head is full of images of Dragan. I haven’t hated anyone so much since I left school.

She’s told Finn that she’s going over to Vibeke’s to practise a few songs for the choir. ‘You’d better put the kids to bed,’ she told him. ‘I might be a bit late.’

She imagines her children grown up and when they somehow learn what their mother got up to once or twice a year, she can hear them ask, ‘Mum, is it true? When we were little, did you really make love to a murderer?’

As the hotel lift ascends, Camilla can feel her skin crawl as she thinks about her answer.

‘No, no, I didn’t. I’d never do that.’

‘So what did you do together? You were unfaithful to Dad, weren’t you?’

‘Goodness, where do you get such dreadful ideas? I wouldn’t dream of it. How can you? I’m your mother!’

It is half past one in the morning. Iben is leaning against the headboard of Gunnar’s big bed. He is next to her and they are both writing on their laptops. Documents and books are spread all over the duvet. They are both absorbed in what they’re doing, but now and then one of them tells the other about a thought or a piece of text. Or they touch, kiss and wait to see what will happen next.

Quietly, in the light from the bedside lamps, their minds play with each other in a private game they both love. Their bodies are at rest, as if they were floating in a warm swimming pool.

Gunnar’s chest bears a small, pink scar from Zigic’s knife. Iben covers it with her hand, as if she could protect him now, one month too late. Her hand moves on, slips through the hair on his chest and her other hand lets go of a book about the Armenian genocide.

Iben and Gunnar stay awake most of the night, but at DCGI the next morning Iben is bursting with energy. She will always remember Malene and respect her memory, but it’s a fact that the office is running much better without her and there are no more problems with people not getting along. Anne-Lise has flourished in a totally unexpected way and Paul turns up every morning in top form.

Iben’s only worry concerns the Turkey issue of Genocide News . It has been a source of anxiety for her ever since she learned, on one hand, that Paul is pretty sure he will be the next head of the DIHR and, on the other, that he is chummy with a representative of the nationalist Danish People’s Party.

All of a sudden Paul whipped the planned Chechnya issue off the schedule, meaning that a study of Christians killing Muslims went down the tube. Instead all the Centre’s resources are to be brought to bear on Turkey — including how Muslims killed more than a million Christians.

Paul’s stated reason was that Turkey was up for discussion in Brussels. Still, these days no one talks about the genocide carried out by the Turks. Inevitably, the suspicion comes to mind that Paul has made some secret agreement with influential figures in the People’s Party, who are against all immigrants, but the Muslim contingent most of all. They already stopped Ole from firing Paul. Maybe their next move is to install him at the top of the Human Rights Institute?