Christian Jungersen - The Exception

Having read Anne-Lise’s journal entries, Iben sees how the following passage also seems to apply: ‘We tend to exaggerate the similarities of those who belong to our group, just as we exaggerate the homogeneity in other groups and the differences among them.’

By now the nausea from this morning has returned. She stares at the broken spring that dangles from her desk lamp, its sharp little tip and the reflections of the overhead light on the broken metal.

Her thoughts must have been drifting for quite a while, when she hears Malene and Camilla chatting about Malene’s swimming sessions.

‘Of course it isn’t just about keeping your body fit. It does something for your mind and your mood as well.’

Iben reads on: ‘Cognitive dissonance makes us like those whom we have helped and dislike those we have hurt.’

She hears Malene’s voice again: ‘If you don’t stay in good shape by doing something active, like you do with your choir, it’s easy to end up just like her in there.’ Malene nods her head in the direction of the library.

Iben needs to be alone. Just for a few minutes. She quickly bends down to put her shoe back on. Despite her painful foot and upset stomach, she walks towards the toilet. She keeps her face turned away to hide her expression.

It feels good to hear the small click of the lock. She settles down on the lid, in the tall, narrow stall with its melon-yellow walls and odour of toilet-cleaner. She lifts her sore foot and puts her hand gently but firmly around the taut skin of her swollen ankle.

The last words of her article are still with her: ‘The more appallingly brutal the acts a perpetrator commits, the more strongly he comes to believe that they are only right and proper.’

She asks herself if that is what they’ve done to Anne-Lise. Is what she says in her diary true?

The throbbing pain has spread. It lurks behind Iben’s eyes, in the back of her neck, in the roof of her mouth, in her arms. It melds with images and words of so many genocides that she has pondered over. She can’t help returning to the one question that researchers inevitably ask themselves: If I had been born in Germany before the Second World War, would I have supported the Holocaust? Then she remembers Anne-Lise, who might well find her out if she doesn’t get back to work soon.

She finds Anne-Lise at Malene’s desk, apparently angry about something. Over the last few weeks, ever since Rasmus died, they have all been kind to Malene — Anne-Lise too. Now that seems to have changed.

Anne-Lise is speaking too fast and her voice has a metallic ring to it. ‘You were talking about me a moment ago. I heard you say that unless people pull themselves together, they’d end up like me.’ She sounds as if she’s about to have a breakdown.

‘Running after two small children keeps you fit. Camilla, you know that, don’t you?’

Malene is quite calm. ‘Anne-Lise, I didn’t say that about you.’

‘I heard you. You said “or you’ll end up like her in there”. And you meant me.’

‘Anne-Lise, you misheard me. I never said that.’

Looking at Anne-Lise, Iben is about to chime in, ‘Malene never said that. I’m positive she didn’t.’ But the words won’t come. Malene, who is so used to Iben backing her up, gives her friend a bemused look: what’s wrong?

There’s a short pause. Iben stays silent.

Malene starts her usual little act that never fails to drive Anne-Lise crazy. ‘If you are hearing people talking about you, then maybe you should see your doctor.’

As expected, Camilla joins in. ‘A doctor might help you, Anne-Lise. Well, anyway, it’s always worth a try.’

Malene looks at Iben. Iben feels more and more sick.

Anne-Lise is shouting now. ‘But you said it! You said it!’

‘Anne-Lise, hearing voices is a serious matter. You must look after yourself.’

‘I’m not hearing voices! You said that!’

‘What’s your doctor like? You’ll need a good one.’

‘I know there are a lot of helpful sites on the Internet.’

Camilla stares at Iben.

Anne-Lise looks withdrawn. Maybe this is what it takes to make her crawl back into the library and hide.

Malene still won’t let go. ‘We haven’t even mentioned you in here today. Have we, Iben?’

Iben can’t speak.

Malene repeats, more loudly and clearly: ‘Have we, Iben?’

A quarter of a second passes.

It is like a test. An evaluation of a human being’s most important qualities.

Half a second.

It strikes Iben that her situation only confirms what she wrote in her first article about the psychology of evil. Christopher Browning’s study showed that what drove ordinary Germans to kill Jews was not the threat of punishment, but peer pressure. The men felt they must not let down the comrades with whom they had endured such dreadful hardships.

Three-quarters of a second.

The pressure on Iben has other similarities to the forces that drive people to kill, and kill again. One brief moment can have incalculable consequences and determine which side a person takes for the rest of the war.

One full second.

No more time to think.

Malene is having such a difficult time these days. Nothing should be allowed to add to her distress. If I humiliate her in front of the others, Iben thinks, our friendship may not survive. She’ll lose every last ounce of trust in me. She might tell Gunnar. That too could change my life. If only Malene and I could have talked about this alone.

I’m taking far too long. They’re all staring at me. How strange it is. I believe that no group has the right to destroy one individual. It’s an article of faith for us here at DCGI. And now, I must choose: either my ideology or my best friend. An inner voice tells me to agree with Malene. My human instinct, like the instincts of millions of Germans, Russians, Chinese, Cambodians, demands that other people should be eliminated.

So much would be sacrificed if I were to break with Malene. And how can I be certain that Anne-Lise deserves that kind of sacrifice from me? I don’t want to turn my life upside down.

The Winter Garden is quiet apart from the slight humming of the computers. Iben looks directly at Anne-Lise. She can’t remember when she last did that.

‘We were talking about you, Anne-Lise.’ Iben blinks. The light is so bright. She starts again. ‘You weren’t imagining it. Not at all.’

Malene slaps the palms of her hands on the desktop. ‘WHAT?’

Iben repeats it and now her voice is firmer. ‘We were talking about you, Anne-Lise. What you heard was exactly what we said.’

Iben can see Malene losing her confidence.

‘Iben, you don’t mean what you’re saying. Did you really hear what we were talking about? What are you … you’re not saying that …?’

Iben’s eyes fill with tears. It’s hard to see Malene. Instead she turns to Anne-Lise, whom she can’t see properly either.

‘Anne-Lise, listen. You’re not psychotic! You’re right! Everything you heard was said. We talked about you. We’ve talked about you before now too.’

Iben can hear that Anne-Lise has also begun to cry.

‘Are you siding with her?!’ Malene is screaming.

‘No! No! I’m not on anybody’s side. I’m just telling her the truth. We talked about Anne-Lise. We did.’

‘You’re her friend now!’

‘No. I’m only saying …’

Malene sounds as if she’s hardly able to breathe. ‘I can’t bear it … You’re just …’

Anne-Lise is still standing at Iben’s side when Malene runs out of the office, slamming the door behind her.

Iben rushes out of the door after Malene, as fast as she can manage on her sore foot.

Malene is not on the stairs and not on the pavement outside. Iben calls her mobile. No response. Apart from the endless rows of parked cars, the road is completely empty. The morning air is cold and Iben hugs herself as she leans against the red-brick wall and tries to collect her thoughts.