Christian Jungersen - The Exception

Everyone on the staff of Lyngby Central Library had gathered for the farewell party on Anne-Lise’s last day. They stood about in the large lobby, holding their glasses of white wine and plates of canapés. The large windows offered panoramic views of Lake Mølle and its landscaped surroundings.

The Head Librarian’s words seemed entirely genuine. ‘We will miss your warmth and your ability to share in our lives as if we were all your close friends. We will miss your sense of fun. Naturally, whoever succeeds you will find you a hard act to follow. I believe that there’s not one of us who, when faced with a troublesome database — indeed, any computer problem — has not instinctively thought of consulting you first. Of course it did occur to us, on occasion, that it wasn’t fair to rely on your good will all the time!’

Anne-Lise’s colleagues beamed at this.

‘So then we’d try asking each other instead. But, sooner or later, we’d always end up coming back to you. And you’d have the answer, of course!’

By now they were all laughing. Anne-Lise looked around the circle of faces. It had been a difficult decision to leave after all the years of working in this place. But she had taken a leap into the unknown and hoped that her new job at the Danish Centre for Genocide Information would bring new, interesting responsibilities and would also give her the opportunity to meet a whole range of fascinating people.

She took the whole scene in: the lake’s oddly dark-green water glinting outside, the ducks swimming right beneath the library windows, her colleagues standing round chatting; and the hand-coloured engraving of old Lyngby, her farewell gift.

The Head Librarian raised her glass and looked at Anne-Lise. ‘I believe — no, I know — that you will have a great time in your new job. But maybe you will, from time to time, think about us and remember us fondly? I’d like to believe that too. I feel we have created a special atmosphere here and we’ve shared many good years together. In any case, you can be certain that we will always think fondly of you.’

On her first day at DCGI, Anne-Lise came in to work full of hope, but also a little apprehensive about not being able to meet the expectations of her three academically qualified new colleagues, who were younger than she was. Still, she had decided to change her job precisely because she wanted new challenges. She put on a new cashmere twinset, and she had asked her hairdresser to freshen up her hair colour.

The first three days went well enough. Malene taught her the cataloguing system and set her up recording the new books and documents that had come in while the library was understaffed. The previous librarian had followed her husband to his new job in Finland about a month earlier.

Cataloguing meant that Anne-Lise worked in the library on her own. It seemed such a dark place, as if the crowded shelves somehow absorbed all the light. It would be good to join the others some time soon, she thought. More lamps in the library would help in the meantime, but Anne-Lise realised that she should wait a while before asking for anything. Her priority at this point was to ensure that her relationship with her new colleagues got off to a good start.

There was another problem, though. A door next to her desk led to a small room housing a copier and a printer. When it was left open, the fumes made it difficult to breathe. She kept closing the door, but the others left it open every time they used the machines. Anne-Lise resigned herself to this for the time being.

Malene’s aunt had died a few days before Anne-Lise started work. It was heartening that they felt able to discuss family issues and it was, of course, perfectly understandable that some of the others’ conversations were conducted in whispers. As the days went by, however, Anne-Lise felt no less excluded. She sat alone in the library working on the catalogue from morning till night, except during breaks.

Anne-Lise tried to tell them things about herself so that they might get to know her better. She wanted to show them that she could be fun, but somehow her jokes didn’t seem to go down well with them. They seemed to have their own brand of humour.

After more than a week had passed Anne-Lise felt that she could finally raise the matter of the copier-room door. She was in the Winter Garden. Malene and Iben were sitting at their desks and were obviously keen to get back to work. She felt quite awkward, standing in the middle of the floor with nothing to do with her hands.

Malene smiled at her and explained that they had always kept the door open because if they didn’t, the air in the copier room became unbearable.

‘I see, of course. But surely the best thing would be to leave the window open in there. Otherwise the awful smell permeates the library.’

No one responded.

Anne-Lise went on, ‘And of course the fumes spread to you as well.’

‘We’ve tried leaving the window open, but it gets too cold if you have a lot of copying to do. Your predecessor didn’t have any problem with it.’

For a few days Anne-Lise agreed to what the others wanted and left the door open. Only when the big copier had been running non-stop for over an hour and the chemical smell became so suffocating that she couldn’t breathe did she open the window. Although nothing was said, she noticed later that the window had been closed again.

One day, Paul overheard them discussing the matter and suggested that they should alternate between keeping the window and the door open. The others apparently thought Anne-Lise had spoken about the problem within Paul’s earshot on purpose. For the rest of the afternoon the women fell silent every time she passed through, punishing her for the unpardonable sin of ‘grassing them up to the boss’.

In bed with Henrik that evening, Anne-Lise wept for the first time, longing for her old job. It was hard for her to admit that she didn’t much care for Malene and Iben. They had a way of giggling together and talking about people she didn’t know that seemed to exclude everyone else. Camilla, on the other hand, seemed very nice. She was married and had children and was about the same age as she was. Maybe they would get on well once they got to know each other better.

The next morning she pulled herself together. She had to believe that all this was just a minor setback. She put on more make-up than usual; then she wiped it off again just before leaving home.

They still didn’t speak to her. While she ruminated how best to handle the situation, she tried not to feel scared. ‘It takes time to adjust to a new place of work. If I’m determined and stay calm, it will be all right in the end.’

During the lunch break she again tried her best to pretend that everything was fine. She listened to Iben’s and Malene’s girlish anecdotes and watched Camilla to see when she should smile or laugh.

A couple of days later Anne-Lise picked a time when Paul was away to ask the others right out if there was something she had done to annoy them. They said no, not at all, but Anne-Lise didn’t give up. She did everything she could to convince them that they must let her know. In the end, Iben admitted that they thought Anne-Lise had been rather inconsiderate about the copier-room window.

This little exchange of views did some good. Despite Paul’s suggestion that the window stay open after every second use, Anne-Lise emphasised that as far as she was concerned, it was all right if they always shut it.

They became nicer to her after that. For a while.

But then Iben and Malene were sending faxes and there seemed to be a private joke going between them. On her first day, Anne-Lise had sent a fax to the chairman of the board by mistake. She hadn’t known that his number was on Speed Dial and the fax went off the second Anne-Lise keyed in the first digit. Now Iben’s and Malene’s voices were loud enough to ensure that Anne-Lise could hear them.