Christian Jungersen - The Exception

They talk about literature too. Gunnar subscribes to Granta . It turns out that they’ve both read Botho Strauss. Gunnar smiles at a quote that Iben happens to recall: ‘The silent man, who was sitting at the cleared table in the feeble light of the projector, leaned on his forearms with his body suspended like a heavy, wet dress from between his shoulders.’

Gunnar has read several of her articles in Genocide News and they talk for a while about the high-ranking Nazis who simulated mental illness in the run-up to the Nuremberg trials. Gunnar tells a story about Karl Dönitz, first commander of the German submarine fleet, later commander-in-chief of the entire navy and Hitler’s successor for the final period of the war. Dönitz used to wander around in prison with his head hung low, making a kind of engine noise. When asked what he was doing, he answered that he was a submarine. It didn’t wash, of course. No one was taken in by his performance as a lunatic. They both laugh at the image of the commander rumbling around in the prison yard. Gunnar’s hand rests on the table very close to Iben’s.

At her front door, Iben fumbles with her bicycle keys. When she tries to shift the bicycle sideways, a pedal hits the knife fastened to her leg. For the first time, it strikes her that she has forgotten about her fear of being ambushed by a professional killer.

Hurriedly she looks up and down the dark road. Far away a broad-shouldered man is standing, looking in her direction.

As she runs up the stairs, thoughts of Gunnar still absorb her. Malene can’t simply keep him for herself. She can’t have him on stand-by, just in case Rasmus packs his bags one day. He’s too old for Malene, she said so herself. But it would be catastrophic for Iben to have to work so closely with Malene if they were no longer great friends.

She can’t fall asleep right away. So she switches on the television in her bedroom and piles up cushions to lean against in bed. Then she goes to the kitchen for marshmallows and a few spoonfuls of ice cream.

Just as she is coming back to the bedroom the phone rings. She runs to the sitting room and notices that she has several messages on the machine.

Malene is on the phone. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been calling you all evening!’ She is obviously very upset.

Out of habit, Iben thinks it must be Malene’s arthritis, only Malene doesn’t sound as subdued as she usually does during an attack. Then it hits her. Iben has an eerie feeling that she knows what Malene is about to say.

‘Rasmus has left!’ Malene is screaming.

‘What?’

‘Moved out! He’s moved out!’

‘Oh no … but where to? Why …?’

Somehow Iben had known. It all fits too well. Of all evenings, it had to be this one.

Without thinking Iben hurls her bowl of ice cream at the nearest bookshelf. Fragments of the bowl have shattered across the floor and some of the ice cream has splashed onto the screen of the television.

Malene is talking. She says that Rasmus told her earlier this evening that for the last six weeks he has been having an affair. Someone who works as a bartender in Bopa.

‘So I threw him out!’

‘You threw him out?’

‘I didn’t want him in my flat for a second longer!’

Iben knows she has to support her friend, reassure her that she has done the right thing, comfort her by telling her how good it is to have the self-assurance to act on your feelings. But somehow she can’t make herself begin.

‘And you weren’t in, Iben.’

‘No …’

Iben doesn’t explain. She holds the receiver to her ear and, with the telephone cord trailing like the lead of a tethered animal, edges over to the bookshelf where some marshmallows lie among the melting remains of the ice cream. She puts one in her mouth. Then she grabs two more and puts them in her mouth as well.

Malene keeps talking. ‘So I got rid of him. But I don’t want to be here — I can’t bear even to look at the flat.’ There is a short pause. ‘Iben, can I stay with you?’

‘Malene, why don’t you come here?’ Iben asks, as if she hadn’t heard Malene’s question.

When the call is finished, Iben goes to the kitchen, puts the kettle on and finds Malene’s favourite tea. She takes some cleaning fluid out of the cupboard so she can wipe the ice cream off her books and sweep up the bits of broken bowl. And she’d better change back into her work clothes as well.

But she doesn’t. On the way back to the bedroom, she collapses on the sofa and weeps, the side of her face pressed against the unyielding arm.

The intercom buzzes. Iben jumps up and runs to release the downstairs lock.

Next she must change her clothes and wipe off her smeared make-up. She runs into the bedroom and pulls her blouse off. No time to change her trousers. The bathroom next. She puts cleansing cream on her face.

When Malene comes in, Iben’s face is still covered with cream. ‘Malene! I’m in here!’

Malene joins her in the bathroom. She seems emotionally drained, but gives Iben a hug. ‘Iben, I’m so glad to see you … you’re a true friend.’

By the time they sit together on the sofa with their tea, Iben has pulled herself together. She has reminded herself that she isn’t the one who has just lost the man she has loved for the last three years. She needs to be there for Malene.

She remembers her one and only experience of breaking up after a long affair. The man was one of her literature teachers at university and almost eleven years older. They spent amazing amounts of time together, especially considering that he was not only regarded as a hardworking academic, but also had a live-in partner.

He told Iben practically from the start that he wanted to get out of his relationship, but then the day came when he told her that his partner was pregnant. He didn’t seem to feel that this needed to affect what he and Iben had together, but she had put an end to it there and then. It took her more than a year to get over it.

Malene doesn’t touch her tea, but talks on in a loud, trembling voice. ‘And I said to him it was pointless. Shit, she’s only twenty-one. What good is that for him? Hanging out with a twenty-one-year-old barmaid. But he said they get along so well.’ She stares up at the ceiling, tears streaming across her temples. ‘So well — because she has done film studies for six months. Oh yes. They can discuss movies. Fucking movies! Must be great to have something to talk about after screwing.’

‘Oh, Malene!’

‘And I asked him if she was healthy. He wouldn’t say and insisted, but insisted, that health had nothing to do with anything. Then I said, “But you can’t know for sure, can you? There might be something wrong with her. Like, maybe she’s got AIDS. Or MS. Or the Big C. Anything. You can’t be sure. You didn’t recognise that I was ill, not when you met me. Not when you first said you loved me.”’

Malene leans against Iben, who holds her close and tries to say all the right things even though she knows it won’t make a difference. Malene’s mascara has run and some of it has rubbed off on her white blouse. She blows her nose now and then, but has given up drying her tears. Her voice has become hoarse and she keeps repeating herself.

‘We were having such a good evening too. We ate, he seemed happy, and we were relaxing together. And then he just suddenly came out with it. There was something “he had to tell me, it was only right”. And then it all snowballed from there. What did he imagine? I mean, what did he think would happen when he told me something like that?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Did he think that I’d listen to his story and that would be that? Did he think we would just continue as before?’