Christian Jungersen - The Exception

The mayor is standing with his back half-turned to the audience, looking up at the bright square with its tabulated numbers. He speaks in monotones.

‘Then the Serbs surrounded the forest. They said they would let us live if we surrendered and kill us if we refused. I was in command of the whole group and I decided that we would not surrender. We learned later that every single one of us would have been killed if I had decided the other way. We ambushed twenty Serbs in the forest and took them prisoner. Then we did a deal. The prisoners would be freed if we were allowed to travel to a Bosnian enclave. We joined the Bosnian army there. I fought and quite soon was made a colonel. I led my men to free my town. Then they made me mayor.’

No one can think of how to comment. For a few seconds the entire audience hesitates and then a few questions are asked based on his talk.

During the coffee break, Iben goes off to look for Paul and finds him on the terrace, deep in conversation with the board chairman, Ole Henningsen. Ole is a heavily built man in his early sixties who sports a large white beard. Before he became interested in genocide research he wrote several historical works about the Soviet Union. He is one of the experts on contemporary history who regularly appears on television. Sometimes he does quiz shows too.

Iben notices Frederik’s blond head above the crowd. He is walking away, possibly after having just left the other two. Paul is leaning forward to speak confidingly with Ole, who is known to be happy with the way Paul runs things. As Iben arrives, she hears the last words of what has clearly been a complaint about the way the Danish Institute of Human Rights had tried to exclude the Centre from being a co-organiser of this conference.

‘… seems to me that they simply weren’t interested in using our expertise.’

Paul’s eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses and it is possible that he hasn’t yet noticed that Iben has joined them.

‘I’m considering taking the issue up with Morten.’

Iben knows that the DCGI only got in on the act because Paul heard through some of his contacts that DIHR was planning the conference. He managed to make sure the Centre was involved at the last minute, just before the invitations and press releases were sent out.

One result of this collaboration is that the conference lasts for two days instead of one, which has made it more attractive for delegates from abroad. DCGI contributed only 15,000 kroner, but added its unrivalled mailing list of European researchers interested in post-war Yugoslavia. Iben also spent several hours on the layout of the conference papers and Paul wrote a full-page article about the conference for Information , describing the speakers’ backgrounds and speculating about the likely outcome.

Because the arrangements were made at the last moment, there had been no time to inform the board members — including its deputy chairman, Frederik Thorsteinsson. And because Frederik didn’t know of the plans, his Centre for Democracy only heard about the conference when it was too late to join in the organising of it. Paul in his capacity as member of the Centre for Democracy’s board might have mentioned it to Frederik, but it seems that he didn’t. At least, Iben assumes he didn’t.

When Iben joins Paul and Ole on the terrace, Ole immediately changes the subject and, in his pleasant voice, asks her how she is. All the board members have been very attentive to Iben ever since she returned from Kenya. Ole goes on to praise her recent articles.

Back in the hall the next speaker is an ageing Bosnian journalist and intellectual.

‘Now we have to force ourselves to hope again. We want a better future for Bosnia. And we will achieve it, with the help of organisations such as those represented here today.’

The speaker’s elaborate descriptions of his captivity in a shed outside Sarajevo make Iben feel oddly unfocused, as if her past is trying to return to her.

Omoro stands in the circle. He sings.

She pushes at the carapace of the dead beetle in the mud wall.

But she doesn’t want to think about that. Not now.

They break for lunch and Iben sits next to Malene at one of the long communal tables in Louisiana’s restaurant. Their table is at a right angle to the huge windows and to the panoramic view of Øresund’s glittering water. Beyond the straits, the outline of the Swedish coast is unusually clear.

All the delegates are busy networking in a mixture of languages, mostly English or the Scandinavian ones, and the noise level is terrific.

Malene scatters lots of salt over her food. She’s on a conference high.

‘I’ve had a chat with Frederik and slipped a mention of Erik Prins into the conversation. As far as I could make out Erik hasn’t said anything bad about me to Frederik. Naturally I didn’t ask him point blank; he wouldn’t have said anyway. It was just that I sensed he acted towards me the same way he always has.’

Iben then spots Anne-Lise at one of the tables in the middle of the room and whispers to Malene: ‘Look. Anne-Lise is talking to Lea.’

Lea is a young and successful sociologist who works closely with the only female member of the DCGI Board, Tatiana Blumenfeld. Tatiana is held in enormous respect by practically everyone. It would be very bad news if Lea passed on an impression that Malene is a troublemaker in the office.

‘I’ll talk to Lea during one of the breaks,’ Iben says reassuringly. ‘When it seems appropriate, I’ll explain the real situation.’

‘Thank you.’

Iben finishes chewing a bite of spinach quiche before she speaks again.

‘Brigitte is around, you know. I’ve seen her. If you have a word with her, Tatiana will hear the truth from two independent sources.’

Brigitte is one of Tatiana’s PhD students.

Iben leans back to look across the backs of people at their table. She observes that Lea seems amused by something Anne-Lise has said.

The subject of the first lecture after the lunch break is: ‘Serbian Intellectuals and the University of Belgrade After Democratisation in the Balkans’.

At the next break Iben zigzags between the groups in the restaurant. She feels the weight of the knife against her leg. What if it was one of these delegates who hatched the plan to send the emails and deposited the blood on the bookshelf?

One of the academics who often comes to study at DCGI stops Iben. He seems puzzled. ‘Something about you has changed. What is it?’

‘What makes you ask?’

‘Nothing I can put my finger on … just something.’

‘Maybe I’m a little tired.’

‘No, no. That’s not it.’

He starts speaking about the emails, which he heard about when Zigic was top of the list of suspects. Now he is keen to tell her the latest news. ‘The story is that Zigic’s group of Serbian mafia is expanding its network into Russia and the USA. Zigic has been sighted recently in the States and in Germany.’

Suddenly Lea turns up at Iben’s side. She says that she truly likes everything about the DCGI. ‘Every few months or so, you seem to improve on some aspect of what you do!’

‘Oh, good. Thanks.’

‘Take what your Anne-Lise just told me about fixing up the library so there is space for readers again — clearing the book stacks off the reading desks and so on.’

This is the first Iben has heard of such a plan. She knows Malene will explode when she learns about it. Obviously, she had better go along with Lea for now.

‘Yes, it is one of the better ideas we’ve had.’

People are heading back to listen to the last lecture and Lea joins the movement in the direction of the concert hall, but she makes a final remark: ‘It’s so much better to be able to read with Anne-Lise close at hand. And the books as well. Such an improvement on using the meeting room.’