Christian Jungersen - The Exception

If there is a merger, Malene, as project manager, would almost certainly be the first in line to be laid off, even though she has been in her post the longest time. The look on Malene’s face now reminds Iben of Cathy’s, back in that filthy hut, when she realised that Iben had become friendlier with Omoro than the rest of them. But unlike Cathy, Malene doesn’t say anything conciliatory.

Instead, she mimes: ‘Are you coming?’

They go to talk in the small storage room where, only two and half months ago, they and Rasmus had played around, hunting for Anne-Lise’s password.

Malene sits down on the old chair and looks at Iben. ‘Did you truly believe that we were talking about Anne-Lise?’

‘Yes, but … you were.’

‘Of course we weren’t.’

‘But …’

Malene interrupts her. ‘Anne-Lise is hallucinating. And you didn’t seem all there yourself. Like you hadn’t slept all night. Are you positive about what you did and didn’t hear?’

Someone walks past in the corridor. Anne-Lise? Iben and Malene are silent until the sound of footsteps has disappeared.

‘You aren’t sure, are you? I can see it in your face.’

‘Yes, I am sure.’

‘I can’t stand the way we always have to put up with Anne-Lise’s paranoia. We’ve been reasonable. Unlike her, we’ve acted professionally and done our best to make this place work properly. We tried to help her, even though she shouted at us and Paul refused to give her sick leave.’

While Malene speaks she presses the tips of her fingers against the wrist of her other hand. The last time Iben saw her do this was once when they were in Malene’s flat. Malene was lying on the sofa, propped up by a lot of cushions. She had just said, ‘When I’m resting like this, I can hear my bones crumbling, all on their own.’

‘I simply don’t understand why you’re encouraging her by saying that we were talking about her, when we weren’t.’

‘But you were talking about her.’

‘I don’t want to talk about it any more. It’s not too hard to work out what you’re up to.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You don’t want to admit it, do you?’

‘Well, you’ll have to tell me what you mean first …’

‘All this with Paul and jobs and co-operating with Anne-Lise.’

‘What are you saying? Malene, you mustn’t think …’

‘You know, what that email said about you is absolutely true. I’ve always thought so. You are self-righteous.’

They are back at their desks. Iben isn’t sure that they are friends any longer. She watches as Malene types away on her ergonomic keyboard. How can she concentrate? How is she able to write? Surely, like Iben, she must want to go home? But Malene is a survivor too.

What next? Iben has visions of a future when she will be free to spend time with Gunnar. They will have dinner together, their heads close together, her hands in his, intimate.

Iben starts to leaf through the massive pile of documents.

Malene is obviously capable of believing that she hasn’t said something she really did say. What other things might she do without remembering them afterwards? Pour blood into a box file? Send emails full of threats?

Iben watches her old friend. She has no idea of what’s going on inside Malene’s head. Malene feels Iben is looking at her and ignores her. Instead she seems to be engrossed in a couple of folders that are next to the bulletin board.

It couldn’t possibly be Malene’s voice that Iben heard on the staircase just before Rasmus fell. Until now, Iben thought it was out of the question.

One of the first times Iben and I went to the cinema together after she had started at the Centre, we were walking across the square in front of the City Hall, and she said, ‘Isn’t our City Hall unbelievably similar to the main SS guardhouse at Auschwitz-Birkenau?’ And a little later, ‘Did you see that dog? It’s just like the dog that belonged to the Assistant Commandant at Treblinka.’

Iben hadn’t worked long for DCGI, but she was already thinking constantly about genocide and its psychology. I don’t think she has the mental stability you need to work in a place like this; she’s too sensitive. Unlike the rest of us, she can’t keep her cool. I shouldn’t blame her — she is who she is. But it drives me absolutely crazy when she stares at me, like she thinks I’m some kind of Nazi officer about to subject Anne-Lise to the Final Solution. What can you do with a friend who thinks that about you?

She hasn’t said it straight out, but she keeps insinuating it. I get so angry with her. What she’s saying makes a mockery of people who have experienced real genocide. How can she draw a parallel between their suffering and a spoilt librarian’s failure to understand why people don’t like her? How can Iben see me in terms of a genocidal killer? I think she might be close to a nervous breakdown.

As you may have figured out, I can’t help but suspect that it’s actually Iben who sent the emails and exchanged my pills. I’m certain she’s weird enough to hide

The phone rings. Malene gets up from her computer and looks around. She realises how dark the room has become while she has been writing. Positively gloomy. She’ll switch on some lights after she deals with the phone call.

It is Malene’s mother. ‘Malene, you really must change the message on your answering machine.’

‘Oh, Mum, I know. I know.’

‘It gives you such a shock, hearing his voice.’

‘I know. It’s just one of those things …’ Malene rubs her face with the knuckles on her left hand. ‘You know, I still get bills addressed to him. Like he’s still using his mobile phone and … it’s awful.’

‘But Malene, changing the voice message isn’t just for your sake — it’s about being considerate to other people.’

‘I’ll do it. I promise.’

Should I really spend money on another answering machine? she thinks. She knows she can’t bring herself simply to erase Rasmus’s voice. Some nights she plays his recorded greeting repeatedly. She might drink a bottle of white wine, sliding slowly into oblivion as she presses the button over and over again.

Her mother cuts into her thoughts. ‘It matters to people who call you.’

Sooner or later there might be a power cut, Malene thinks. Or someone might fiddle around with the cables, and then I’d lose his message anyway. I should definitely buy a new machine.

Her mother says that she bumped into a few old friends in Kolding. They’d heard about Rasmus and expressed their sympathy for Malene.

‘You must let us know if there is anything that Dad or I can do for you. Anything at all. We worry about you so much.’

Malene doesn’t reply.

‘Are you writing to Rasmus?’

‘Umm.’

‘That’s good. I mean, it’s good for you to write down what you feel. I’m sure there are so many things you’d like to tell him.’

‘Umm.’

*

Afterwards Malene walks around turning on lights. Someone who didn’t know about her arthritis might miss the small signs of her illness scattered around her flat: a plain metal-framed adjustable chair set among the wooden dining chairs; special knives and other equipment in the kitchen; small toy-like objects for exercising her fingers.

She sits down and continues her letter.

I admit that Iben is right about some things. We have been too rough on Anne-Lise. We shouldn’t lower our own standards. Yet it was Anne-Lise who started it all. She was the one who persuaded Paul to give her some of my most exciting responsibilities. She was the one who manoeuvred it so that I would be the first in line to be fired if we merge with Human Rights. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been here the longest and that I’m suffering from this vile, diabolical illness, which could make it difficult for me to get another job. And that I lost you three weeks ago.