Christian Jungersen - The Exception

‘Do you think that he pushed Rasmus?’

‘Stop it! Stop attacking me!’

Anne-Lise looks undecided whether to try and comfort Camilla or keep her distance.

Camilla is still shouting. ‘I want to go home!’

‘Of course you do. I know this is tough for you, I can see that. We’ll help you find a taxi … but first, just tell us this. Do we need to be careful? Will this man try something else? Would he really try to kill us?’

Although Iben is speaking calmly, Malene detects a genuine underlying fear.

When Camilla repeats that she wants to go home, Iben gently replies: ‘We’ll stop after a couple more questions. Can’t you see that we are all in this together? We need to work out as a group how we can best protect ourselves. Don’t you agree?’

‘Yes.’ Camilla peers at them. ‘Yes, you’re right. I agree. But I do need to go to the toilet.’

‘Of course.’

After the door closes behind Camilla, Malene turns on the light.

The break was over long ago. Malene glances at Anne-Lise, taking in her broad, square-jawed face, her dark shoulder-length hair, and her dull, expensive clothes.

No one speaks.

Finally, Iben breaks the silence. ‘When she comes back we must try to be kinder to her. Perhaps we were a little too hard on her.’

The minutes pass and after a while it becomes obvious that Camilla is not coming back.

Iben stands at the window, carefully scanning the grey buildings and bare trees, as if a Serb militiaman might be lying in wait for her. Malene knows this is exactly what is on her mind.

Anne-Lise goes and looks out of the window as well. With the lights on, the faces of the two women, standing close together, are reflected in the large panes against the wintry background outside.

Malene also wants to do what Camilla did: simply slip away.

He hums the bass-line of an old Barry White number first: ‘Daaaum — daum daum — da da.’ Then he starts the message.

‘You have reached Rasmus and Malene’s answering machine. Where are we now? We don’t know either. So, please leave a message after the tone.’

It’s evening now and Malene has lit only a few small lamps, scattered around her living room. She listens tearfully to Rasmus’s message. When she’s heard the message a couple of times, she goes to the kitchen and takes a bottle of white wine out of the fridge. Drinking will ruin her night, but she doesn’t care. Settling onto the large, pale sofa, she plays the message again.

‘Daaaum — daum daum — da da. You have reached Rasmus and Malene’s answering machine. Where are we now? We don’t know either. So, please leave a message after the tone.’

She finishes the glass, drinks another one and then goes to get his pale-blue T-shirt. He forgot to pack it because it was in the laundry basket. She hasn’t washed it. She lies on her back on the sofa and holds the T-shirt to her chest.

Iben would find this beyond comprehension, she thinks, even though she wouldn’t actually ask Malene why she’s tormenting herself like that.

‘Daaaum — daum daum — da da. You have reached Rasmus and Malene’s answering machine. Where are we now? …’

Her fingers are tingling. It’s from all the crying. She wants some ice cream. Malene pulls herself together and walks in a reasonably straight line to the kitchen. She takes out a pack of vanilla ice cream with cherry swirls. The scoop has the right kind of broad, soft handle, but even so she should leave the ice cream to soften a little. Never mind. She stabs at it, hurting her hand in the process. She wipes a few tears away with her sleeve and returns to the sitting room.

She is back on the floor in the darkened room, listening to the message again and again. The bottle is empty. She knows she should stop, but instead fills a glass with rum, orange juice and ice, and recalls what she said to Rasmus the last time they met.

They stood together in the hall. He was on his way to his new girlfriend’s place with three jackets slung over his arm. The twisted brass hooks point at the back of Malene’s head. Her own coats and jackets hang from the other hooks, without shape or life, like carcasses in a slaughterhouse. The fur collar on her green coat is unpleasantly close to her cheek.

She shouted at him, like she is doing now. ‘So why don’t you just leave! Leave! I don’t fucking want you here any more! You’re a liar! A fucking liar! Don’t think for a second that I’ll take you back when she throws you out!’ She hits out with her arms, as if he were there.

He tried to calm her.

‘Malene, Malene, please. I’m so sorry …’

‘Don’t! You lost the right to say “Malene” like that! Just go. Liar!’

He tried again. ‘Can’t we just … This is so difficult.’

She stamps the floor and strikes the green coat beside her. ‘You’re a total shit! I’ll never have you back! Whatever happens to you!’

‘Oh, Malene. I’m so sorry.’

That’s what he said. He’d said, ‘Oh, Malene. I’m so sorry.’

Because he was carrying his jackets, he wasn’t able to defend himself when she slapped him. Her hand hurt like hell, but he didn’t seem to feel a thing.

All the while she was certain that he would come back to her. He would have come back.

She was also certain that he would have turned around and never come back.

When she drinks some more, the words begin to change.

She stands in the hall. He is there. The empty hooks stick out, shiny and eye-catching.

‘Don’t leave! Don’t fucking leave! I want you here, I do! You liar. I want you!’

‘Oh, Malene. I’m so sorry.’

That’s what he says. He has said, ‘Oh, Malene. I’m so sorry.’

‘It’s a mistake. A misunderstanding. You do want to stay with me!’

‘Yes. I do.’

They kiss. She reaches out. With one hand, she grabs hold of one of the short, black legs of the coffee table, and with the other, the thick legs of the sofa.

She is still, her eyes closed.

Now that she is quiet, Malene can hear her neighbour in the flat below making a racket. He’s banging on the pipes and howling, ‘Shut up!’

It’s simply too much. He knows that Rasmus has died. Without moving, she screams, ‘Shut up yourself!’

She watches the pattern of light on the white ceiling. Her hands and feet are starting to hurt. She should take one of her strong painkillers.

She gets up slowly, holding on to the coffee table.

Standing doesn’t feel too bad; she’s not completely drunk. Her body feels odd, though, like a piece of meat that’s been cooked for hours and hours until the flesh falls off the bones.

She moves slowly towards the bathroom; every step causes a burning sensation in one of her feet.

She swallows a pill.

Back in the sitting room she checks the time. It’s only quarter to eleven. Maybe she’ll even escape a hangover.

Her phone rings and displays Gunnar’s number.

She decides to answer.

‘Hi, Malene. It’s Gunnar. Is this too late to call?’

‘No. Not at all.’

‘Are you sure I’m not disturbing you? You sound slightly out of it.’

‘No, I’m fine. I fell asleep on the sofa and just woke up. I’m pleased it’s you.’

‘I’m back from Afghanistan. I saw you’d phoned me.’

‘Well, I guess so.’

‘I thought maybe we could get together?’

‘I’d like that very much.’

‘Should we figure out a date now?’

Malene thinks for a second. ‘Do you want to come over? Tonight?’

A pause.

‘Do you really think that’s a good idea?’

‘It’d be so nice to see you. You can tell me about Afghanistan. While everything is still fresh in your mind.’