Christian Jungersen - The Exception

The telephone wakes Iben the next morning. It is Malene and she has been crying. It doesn’t take Iben long to figure out what’s wrong. She knows that Malene has been taking painkillers recently but still hasn’t been able to get much sleep.

‘Iben, I have to go to the clinic.’

Iben sits up and pushes a pillow behind her back. ‘Oh, Malene, you poor thing. But you seemed so well yesterday?’

‘I don’t know what’s happened either. It doesn’t usually hit me like this.’

‘Is it very bad?’

‘Bloody awful. It came on during the night. It doesn’t usually happen that quickly. I don’t know … oh God, I can’t trust anything any more. And it hurts so much, even though I’ve taken my pills. I can barely think. My knee is huge and the skin feels tight right up my thigh. I’ve never heard of it coming on so quickly.’

‘Shall I come over?’

‘Could you bear it?’

‘Of course.’

‘It’s just that Rasmus left for the airport not long ago. I’ve called Out Patients and they’ll try to fit me in soon after nine.’

‘I’ll be with you in half an hour.’

Iben has gone with Malene to the rheumatological clinic several times before, when her friend was too ill to walk down the stairs by herself. In the hospital Iben would always stay by her side, while Malene lay on the paper-covered couch in the doctor’s examination room. She would hold her friend’s hand, while the doctor inserted a wide-bore needle into Malene’s kneejoint, draining off one syringe of liquid after another.

The last time, they both believed that there would be no more visits for a while, but the doctor had been worried.

‘We shouldn’t do this too often, you know. Recurrence of inflammatory episodes can erode the joint surfaces. I’ll prescribe something that should help.’

Malene was put on methotrexate. It helped a great deal. Until today, that is.

‘I can’t walk … I can barely stand. All I can do is sit here.’

Faintly, Iben hears Malene cough or sob, or maybe both. She must have put her hand over the receiver.

Then Malene speaks in a voice that is no longer familiar. ‘I can’t do anything. Because it hurts so bad. I can’t do anything at all.’

‘Malene, don’t try. Just wait. I’ll be with you soon.’

Cycling over to Malene’s she thinks, as she did over and over again during the night, that they shouldn’t have deleted the email from Tatiana. Regardless of what Anne-Lise has done to us, she tells herself, we must make sure that we’re not equally at fault. We mustn’t be tempted to do things that are simply wrong, or else we’ll be stooping to her level. And then we can’t claim that we’re simply fighting for what’s best for the Centre. Iben pulls out her mobile phone and dials DCGI to say that she’ll be in late and that Malene is ill.

Anne-Lise answers; Camilla isn’t in yet.

Iben tells her about Malene’s attack of arthritis.

‘That’s awful. Is it bad?’ If you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t have a clue that she hated Malene.

Iben overtakes a bicycle pulling a trailer.

‘Anne-Lise, one more thing. When I saw her at Louisiana, Lea mentioned that Tatiana is about to start on a major paper. I thought you’d be the right person to suggest books from our library for her research.’

‘I could do that. What’s the subject?’

‘Don’t know. But, listen, why don’t you phone her and ask if you can help?’

Anne-Lise pauses briefly before answering. ‘That’s so nice of you. I’ll do that. Thank you for the advice.’

‘Don’t thank me. I’m just helping a colleague.’

‘No, Iben, it’s different. I can’t tell you how pleased I am.’

Anne-Lise sounds unusually happy. Iben loses her concentration a little as she looks over the tops of the parked cars to try to find a gap in the traffic and slip across Østerbro Street.

She unlocks the door to Malene’s flat with the spare key she keeps for times like this. Malene is lying on the sofa. Before he left, Rasmus helped her into a loose-fitting tracksuit, made her some breakfast and helped her to go to the toilet. Rasmus is on his way to Glasgow with a group of other salesmen.

Malene is pale, but even without her make-up she still looks lovely.

‘Malene, what lousy luck.’

‘Umm.’

‘What have you taken?’

‘Two ibuprofen at five this morning. And then two paracetamols and then two more ibuprofen. I’m not allowed any more.’

‘And it got this bad in just one night?’

‘Yes, it did.’

Iben packs an overnight bag. Then, while Malene is still lying down, Iben gently slides on her shoes, lacing them loosely but tying the knots firmly. Iben puts Malene’s arm round her own neck, careful not to jolt her friend’s hand, and then, as effectively as she can, she helps her to stand up. When they reach the hall, Iben eases Malene into her coat.

On the landing, Iben lets Malene lean against the banister while she quickly grabs her jacket and picks up both of their bags. Iben can see that Malene’s eyes are full of pain, but also of something else — something that surely no one else, except Rasmus, has seen.

Making their way down the stairs is the hardest part, but together they have mastered it. Iben tells the waiting taxi-driver how to help Malene into the cab.

Once they’re through Door 42 of the hospital, manoeuvring is easier, because here the corridors are wide and the lifts roomy. The Out Patients at the rheumatological clinic has no proper waiting room, only a selection of chairs and magazines placed in a cul-de-sac in the corridor. Iben helps Malene out of her coat, finds her a chair and another one for her leg, and then goes off to register her arrival.

Now it will take at most an hour until a doctor comes along to drain the fluid out of the inflamed knee joint. If Malene had the energy, she might have felt some relief. As it is, all she can do is endure it.

Iben sits down next to her. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

Malene has put one of her hands lightly on her swollen knee. She stares straight ahead. ‘No, Iben, nothing more. Thank you so much.’

‘You know that all you have to do is say …’

‘It’s OK. You can go off to work now, if you like.’

‘No way. I’ll stay here with you. But I need to go downstairs and make some calls. They won’t take long. Is there anything you’d like me to get you from the kiosk?’

Malene doesn’t move. ‘No, thanks.’

Iben walks with long, swift steps, aware of the ease with which she can move. Dear God, thank you, she thinks, and then feels ashamed.

But she has nothing to be ashamed of. After all, she is doing everything she can to help Malene. She has no reason whatever to feel bad.

And, she thinks, she was also being helpful to Anne-Lise.

The air is chilly and still damp after the night’s rain. A handful of people are wandering around between the parked cars, smoking or talking into their mobile phones. Iben phones Nisa at the Danish Institute for International Studies to ask for current statistics on the ongoing genocide of Amazonian Indians. Nisa asks her how things are going at DCGI.

Iben has a shrewd idea of what she’s angling at. ‘Good. We’re just preparing the Chechnya issue.’

Sure enough, Nisa soon gets to the point. ‘Somebody told me you’re having problems with Anne-Lise?’

Iben has to smile at how quickly gossip spreads. She’s glad that she and Malene have managed to defend themselves, but knows she must be discreet. ‘Really? Who told you that?’

‘Just something Erling said.’

That’s all right. Erling sits on the same research committee as Ole Henningsen. It wouldn’t be bad if the information filtered through that way.