Christian Jungersen - The Exception

One of Gunnar’s hands rests near the centre of the table top.

‘And that’s what your work at DCGI is about, isn’t it? I mean, research into “push-buttons”?’

‘That’s the idea, though I’ve never heard it described like that. Still, something triggers the impulse to kill in one segment of society and they begin to murder another. What is the trigger? And what triggers goodness? If only we could learn to understand the mechanisms, then it should be possible to intervene at an early stage and stop the whole process from developing.’

‘And when that happens the Centre will be awarded the Nobel Prize for Peace, Medicine and Literature all at the same time.’

They both laugh.

The noise from the table next to theirs has stopped. One of the musicians has taken her cello from its case and, in the sudden stillness, moves the bow across the strings. One single note rings out, deep and lasting. Doesn’t it sound a little like the wail of an animal? Iben thinks. Maybe the cry of a lion cub. But then again, it doesn’t. The note is too pure, too cultured.

When the sound has died away the talking starts up again at the musicians’ table. The cellist was obviously using her instrument to illustrate a point. Now she lovingly puts it away again.

Under the table Gunnar’s leg touches Iben’s. She is scared that he will notice the knife and think that she’s paranoid, so she pulls her leg away.

Gunnar breaks the silence. ‘I can’t remember when I was last with someone who made talking together feel so … natural.’

Does he say this kind of thing to Malene too? Suddenly Iben recalls the acute attacks of illness that force Malene to go to the rheumatological clinic. Her memory flashes up an image of Malene’s face distorted with pain.

The big, low candle on their table gutters as a new group of people arrive.

Iben looks at Gunnar. He is somehow too large compared to the flimsy café chair. She can see a trace of tension in his face.

‘Iben, if you would like to drop in at my place, any time, you would be very welcome.’

The following morning Iben and Malene are in Paul’s office, standing together while he swivels irritably back and forth on his chic executive chair. He has seemed annoyed right from the very start of the meeting. Iben was feeling ill at ease even before they went in to see him. Part of the reason is Malene’s and her agreement that Iben should present the facts of the situation.

She speaks briefly. ‘All in all, we feel that it would be good for Anne-Lise to take some sick leave. She needs to recover away from the Centre. She isn’t herself at the moment.’

Paul’s next swirl on his chair is especially vigorous.

‘No way.’

Neither Iben nor Malene can think of anything to do or say for a moment.

‘Why …?’ Malene finally asks.

Paul stares at them. ‘She isn’t sick. Simple as that.’

Both Iben and Malene squirm at the thought of having to present an analysis of Anne-Lise’s mental state without any proper evidence.

‘Let’s do some straight talking,’ Paul says. ‘To force sick leave on an employee is something you only do when you’re desperate for a chance to sack them. It means that the problem is off your desk for a while and hopefully it will go away on its own. It never does, though.’

Iben and Malene are falling over themselves to distance themselves from what he is implying.

‘No, that’s not it at all …’

‘Oh, no.’

Iben winces. ‘You mustn’t take it like that. All we mean is, maybe Anne-Lise should take some time off. Some problem at home might be troubling her. Anyway, she clearly isn’t stable right now. You even offered her the chance to see a psychologist.’

Malene follows this up. ‘What we feel is, she might slip into real mental illness unless she gets some peace.’

Paul is unusually direct. ‘Look, you know as well as I do that to send someone home on these terms is to push them down the slippery slope towards dismissal. For Anne-Lise it would be nearly impossible to return to work here. She has a husband and children who will be affected, one way or another. Besides, the work she does here is excellent. We’ve hardly given the new measures time to work. You should do the decent thing and give Anne-Lise a chance.’

Iben feels blood rushing to her cheeks. A pulse is starting to beat in her temple. ‘We only made the suggestion because we’re working so closely and collaborating with her is very difficult at the moment. We thought that it would be reasonable to give her some time to get on an even keel … and we’ve tried everything else. Malene saw to it that we, and you, had a meeting with Anne-Lise. And we’ve changed the way we work …’

Malene interrupts. She sounds more upset than she probably wants to. ‘It might also be dangerous to let her carry on. No matter how difficult it is for us to think of her as … unbalanced, there is the matter of the death threats.’

Paul stops her. ‘What’s this about the situation being dangerous for you? She’s the only one around here who had blood poured all over her.’

‘She could easily have set that up herself!’

Malene catches Paul’s eye and then looks at Iben. The effect is to shift Paul’s attention.

‘Iben, tell Paul again about the books you’ve been reading.’

Iben would dearly like this to end soon or, preferably, for it never to have started. She tries to run through some of her psychiatric insights, but her new knowledge sounds quite out of place.

Paul watches her, his eyes clouding with such disappointment that Iben feels she can’t bear it much longer. He interrupts her. ‘I am personally convinced that the emails were not sent by anyone on our team. I expect you to trust the others in the same way.’

Malene tries to offer a little support for her friend. ‘But—’

He almost shouts now: ‘It is out of the question!’

Then Paul stops turning around in his chair and speaks more quietly. ‘We do not, any of us, suspect Anne-Lise. Or Camilla. Period! The video camera is going to be in place over our front door pretty soon. Once we all feel safe, everything will sort itself out.’

Malene opens her mouth, but a quick glance at Paul makes her close it again.

They all reflect for a moment.

Paul is the first to break the silence. ‘Look, I hear what you’re saying. Clearly there are problems, but I won’t mention anything about this at the board meeting today. I’m going to forget what I’ve heard, unless of course you would feel differently? It’s really to protect you. I’m afraid your behaviour wouldn’t look too good.’

Iben and Malene are sitting in the coastal-line train on their way to Denmark’s Louisiana Museum of Modern Art. DCGI and the Institute of Human Rights have joined forces to run a two-day conference on ‘The Re-establishment of Democracy and Civic Trust in the Former Yugoslavia’. Many people are expected to attend, including 140 international delegates.

The train is relatively empty, because at this time of the morning the commuters travel into Copenhagen. The sharp November-morning light pours into the carriage. The sun stands so low over the horizon that it shines directly into their eyes as they try to observe the luxurious seaside villas.

During the week after their awkward meeting in Paul’s office, Malene suggested to Paul that they should invest in a new piece of software. Running on a section of the DCGI site with restricted access, the program would allow researchers to read and review each other’s papers. Subscribers could arrange online meetings and keep chatting round the clock, as well as interact via notices on a bulletin board.

Malene would take on the role of web master for this closed section of the site. Once it was up and running, DCGI would be on its way to becoming a virtual research centre, at comparatively minimal cost. Before Malene took her idea to Paul, she investigated the running costs and looked into what other organisations felt about virtual meeting places that were similar. She had tabulated advantages and drawbacks, alongside informed comments.