Christian Jungersen - The Exception

‘I realise, of course, that we have to look forward and rely on old friendships in order to build a new nation. It’s just that people have very different limits of how far they’ll go to maintain an acceptable social atmosphere. I mean, you might be hanging out in the kitchen at three o’clock in the morning, chatting away to some men and then, suddenly, you realise that they were in the White Eagles or one of the other notorious paramilitary units.

The first time I found myself face-to-face with Mirko in a crowded room was shortly after a new rumour had started making the rounds. Apparently he had killed two Croatian journalists after the war. A friend and I left the party to go and sit in a garden a few houses away. Unlike many others at school, I was never in love with Mirko, but the woman I was with had once been his girlfriend.

‘One thing I asked her was: “Do you remember how we would quiz girls about the boys they were going out with? — how could they stand this one or that one? And they’d say that the boy was different when they were alone together: he’d be relaxed and was so sweet and kind that we wouldn’t recognise him. Was it the other way round with you and Mirko? We all thought he was a sweet, poetic kind of guy, and only cared about his music. We took for granted that you two had a wonderful time together. Did he change when you were alone? — show a completely unexpected side?”

‘She said that he didn’t.’

The next morning

Peric had something to add when we met the following morning.

‘I’ve listened to those who say they always knew what Mirko was really like. It’s what they want to believe now that they know the truth. I used to go on bicycle rides into the woods alone with him. Now that I know he’s a rapist I would like to think that I had sensed a deep flaw in him, but the fact is, I didn’t.’

It’s Monday morning. Anne-Lise arrives at DCGI and steps into the Winter Garden. She tries to clear her head and sound cheerful and friendly.

‘Good morning.’

Camilla is the only one in. Her eyes are fixed on her monitor. ‘Good morning.’

With her coat over her arm, Anne-Lise stops and looks about her. The library door is closed as usual. The only sound is the faint hum from Camilla’s computer.

Camilla keeps staring at the screen and Anne-Lise walks off to the library. She hangs up her coat and checks her hair in a small mirror she keeps inside a cupboard. It looks all right, but she goes over it with the brush all the same. It is dark and carefully cut in a pageboy style, which covers the sides of her broad jaw, but her face still looks too square. She bends closer to the mirror. The skin under her eyes hasn’t aged more than you’d expect in someone over forty.

She picks a few hairs off her black turtleneck sweater and has a quick look to make sure that there are none on her camel-coloured skirt. She’s ready to start work.

From the beginning one of her main tasks has been to scan the keyword lists at the back of every volume in the library and use a text-recognition program to turn them into Word files. After editing the lists she enters the keywords into the library database. She is deep into her work when she hears Malene arrive. A few minutes later she hears Iben’s voice.

Anne-Lise knows from the talk last Friday that Malene and Iben were invited to a party. She walks into the Winter Garden. ‘Hello. How was the party?’

Malene replies, but looks at Iben. ‘It was OK.’

Anne-Lise sees that the others have little plates with a fresh buttered roll on each. There’s also a tray with an extra roll, butter, plate and a knife.

‘Oh, look, fresh rolls! Did you bring them, Camilla?’

‘Yes.’

‘Is today special?’

‘No.’

‘Thanks anyway. I’ll bring some next Monday.’

Anne-Lise butters one half of the spare roll. Holding her plate, she takes a few steps towards Iben’s desk, but Iben is engrossed in something on her computer.

Anne-Lise stands motionless for a few seconds. Nobody takes any notice of her, so she walks away, back to the library.

She tries to put her mind to the next keyword editing job. There is a neat stack of reports to the right of her on the desk and each one has to be checked to make sure that the keywords are relevant. She starts with a report describing the massacre of at least two thousand Muslims in India.

She can hear the others chatting now and, sure enough, they’re discussing the party. It’s hard to follow what they’re saying from behind her closed door. Anne-Lise concentrates on the screen to block out their voices. The computer lists the keywords ‘electric’, ‘food’ and ‘sex’. Far too general. She quickly looks through the pages of the report, corrects the keywords and extends them to enable searches on specifics such as electrical shocks to the sexual organs, rotten food and sexual violation.

Iben’s voice is louder now and what she is saying sounds important. Anne-Lise hurries to the door. She must become familiar with what they’re talking about or else she’ll be lost when they chat later over lunch.

The Winter Garden is full of animated talk. They’re joking about one of the journalists who interviewed Iben when she came back home from Kenya. Iben says that she kept asking her about what they were fed in captivity.

When the others have said their piece, Anne-Lise tries to join in. ‘Was it because she was doing a feature on food?’

‘No, not at all. No matter what I said, she wouldn’t let go. Back she’d come with another question about the food.’

Iben looks impatient, but Anne-Lise carries on. ‘And did she write about it for the paper?’

‘Yes.’

Iben turns back to her computer.

Anne-Lise glances at Malene. Is she looking this way? No. One more try. ‘I suppose you felt differently about reading interviews after your own experience?’

Iben clicks again and again, scrolling through a file. Anne-Lise still does not want to leave. After all, Iben often keeps working while she speaks to other people.

But Iben turns to Camilla instead. ‘Camilla, do you remember that email they sent us, with the new French links? Do you have it?’

‘I do.’

‘Could you mail it to me, please.’

‘Sure. You’ll have it in just a moment.’

All three of them stare at their screens. Anne-Lise fiddles with things she finds on a shelf next to the fax machine.

‘I shouldn’t ask you any more questions, should I?’

Iben looks up and smiles for a fraction of a moment. ‘Of course you should. It’s fine, Anne-Lise — but later, when I’ve got time to explain. Right now my head is full of things I have to do.’

Back in the library, Anne-Lise hears them laugh. Malene has said something funny.

Anne-Lise has mentioned quite a few times that she’d like to be in the Winter Garden too. In the beginning Paul used to tell her that he thought it was a good idea, but after a while he backed off. It would be impractical, he said, blaming lack of space and problems with telephone lines and computer connections. He added that it would be better if her workplace was close to the main book collection.

She thought that the real reason was that the others had conspired to keep their cosy threesome. Presumably Paul had asked for their opinion.

Anne-Lise’s first day at the DCGI was just a few days after the death of Malene’s aunt and it had seemed natural enough that they shut her out back then. She had assumed that it would get easier, the longer they worked together. Now it seems that the barriers will never come down.

Paul had emphasised that Anne-Lise should go into the Winter Garden whenever she liked. He repeats this every so often and she takes him at his word, even when it makes her feel awkward.