Christian Jungersen - The Exception

‘Yes, of course.’

Malene glances at Iben sympathetically, then she looks at Camilla. ‘If we think he is in any way “normal”, then imagine what it must be like to live with all that and have no one to talk to about it.’

Anne-Lise suddenly senses that something is being aimed at her. She wants to get up and leave, but being included by them is what she has always wanted.

Camilla interrupts Malene. ‘No way would I let him talk to me, that’s for sure! I’m prepared to try to understand lots of people and make allowances, but that kind of thing — no, that’s where I draw the line.’

Iben is more direct. ‘I wonder, is his loneliness getting a hold of him? Maybe he’s simply writing these emails because he’s so isolated? Maybe we could make use of that?’

Anne-Lise pushes back her chair. As she stands up, Malene’s words reach her. Softly.

‘Perhaps it’s only people like us who have this need to talk. Someone like him might not feel the same way.’

Malene’s eyes rest calmly, almost amiably, on Anne-Lise.

Anne-Lise turns to go but remembers that she should do her part in clearing the table. She reaches for one of the dishes and watches Malene smile blandly.

‘But then, we’re clearly different from some people. Speaking for myself I could never bear to work the way you do, Anne-Lise. You know, alone all day long, year in and year out.’

Malene, Iben and Camilla sit together in silence. They’re waiting, their hands lying on the table. How will Anne-Lise reply?

Holding the small dish with cheese and liver paté, Anne-Lise stops, her eyes glued to the table top. She mumbles an answer, so low that it is hard to grasp what she is saying: ‘I feel the same way as you do. I’d like to have someone to talk to.’

The responses come in a rush. ‘What do you mean?’

‘You have us to talk to, any time you like.’

‘We’re here for you.’

She can’t see how she can answer them, how she can be friendly and honest at the same time. She cannot allow the smallest crack in the wall of lies she has built to protect herself, or the truth will come flooding in — the real truth full of anger and tears and howls of hatred. She can no longer imagine a constructive way of being truthful.

Anne-Lise remains silent.

Malene apparently takes no notice. She addresses the other two. ‘We know that Anne-Lise doesn’t work closely with anyone else. Not the way we do.’

Iben and Camilla join in, their voices confident and confiding.

‘She can’t chat the way we do when we’re sitting at our desks.’

‘But that’s not our fault, surely.’

‘Come on, nobody has said that it’s anybody’s fault.’

‘Anne-Lise, you know you can always come and join us. It isn’t as if our office is shut off, is it?’

‘But somehow it sounded as if we’d done something wrong.’

‘Oh no. No.’

‘Anne-Lise, what do you really mean?’

‘Do you think we don’t want to talk to you? It sounded a bit like that.’

‘You don’t think that, do you? You know you can always come to see us, don’t you?’

All three of them are looking at her. Anne-Lise summons all her courage to speak. She almost spits out the words, enunciating each one crisply: ‘You three are such good friends. Clearly that is why you speak to each other in a different way from the way you speak to me.’ She stares at the plate in her hand, then at the lunch table. The smell of the food is getting to her.

Malene smiles. ‘That’s true. Iben and I are old friends and that’s — you know — different from being friendly with people you work with.’

Again, their words pour out almost in unison.

‘Naturally.’

‘People who work together should treat each other well — that goes without saying. But that’s quite different from being close friends.’

‘I’ve come to the library loads of times to ask if you wanted something, like when I was going to the baker’s or the supermarket.’

‘And when we take a break we always tell you.’

Iben leans forward and her face has an earnest expression. ‘We don’t always remember to go to the library and tell Anne-Lise if we’re having an interesting discussion. We probably could do better, couldn’t we?’

Anne-Lise’s throat tightens. The conversation isn’t over yet.

Malene looks at her and raises her voice just enough to be heard above the other two. ‘Now, you must admit it’s understandable if anyone talks more with a close friend than with a colleague?’

Camilla won’t let go either. ‘There’s no way we can work out how much it means to you if you don’t tell us. Many people really do prefer to keep to themselves.’

Malene nods pleasantly at Camilla. ‘I’d like to hear what Anne-Lise has to say.’

Anne-Lise realises that she needs a pee. Her voice is faint. ‘Yes …’

Malene is staring straight at her with genuine interest. Anne-Lise finally tries to say something, more to herself: ‘Yes, of course I understand.’

She knows when she tells Henrik about this he will be irritated with her for backing down.

The others continue to protest their innocence to each other.

After a while Anne-Lise tries to add something else. ‘Maybe I’d rather not be so …’ She thinks of Henrik and tries to finish her sentence with conviction. ‘… Well, it matters to me that I’m supposed to keep my door shut.’

Camilla suddenly stands. With both hands on the table, she leans towards Anne-Lise. ‘What’s this? We’ve been through it before, Anne-Lise.’ Camilla takes a deep breath and looks at Malene and Iben for support. ‘We agreed! And I don’t want to go over it again!’

Iben makes a small gesture for Camilla to sit down, but Camilla hasn’t finished. ‘I won’t put my health on the line just so the door can be left open. I simply won’t!’

Iben gently replies. ‘But Anne-Lise didn’t say that the door has to be open. She’s only saying it makes a difference to her that it’s shut.’

Anger is bringing out red spots on Camilla’s neck. ‘I’ve read all about it. It’s the draughts you don’t notice that are the most dangerous. Draughts can make you an invalid! — force you into early retirement!’

They all pause, waiting for Anne-Lise to speak. It’s too much. Outside the sun breaks through the clouds, suddenly brightening the room.

She opens her mouth, but the words don’t come. Suddenly, she’s aware of pressure behind her eyes. She manages to keep the tears back, but her hands and arms begin to tremble. This will not do. She can’t just sit here, speechless and shaking.

The others are exchanging looks.

Oh, they’ll be able to use this against her all right. From now on they’ll say she is mentally unstable. She has never trembled like this before, as if she were an alcoholic or a drug addict.

Her words come too quickly: ‘And then there’s the whole thing about the library users, the fact that I’m not allowed to talk to them. If I could, it would make a difference. In other libraries, researchers contact the librarian. I thought I’d be the Centre’s librarian and people would come to me. I didn’t think I’d just be doing archival work. That’s what they told me when I was interviewed …’

Malene interrupts. Her voice sounds truly caring, warm and reassuring. ‘Anne-Lise, if you feel like an outsider here, it’s good that you’ve told us. We can do something about it now. I must say that I don’t believe it’s the only reason why you feel so unhappy, but even if this place isn’t as bad as you think, we still need to work something out. You mustn’t feel so bad. You can be absolutely certain that we all want to help you.’