The Exception

by Christian Jungersen

  Her hands feel tender. She hopes it doesn’t mean that another attack of arthritis is on its way. It would be so irritating now, when it’s important to be in the office. Besides, tonight Rasmus comes back from Cologne.

  The whole morning passes without Paul emerging from his room. Anne-Lise is also lying low. Nobody has spotted her outside the library.

  At eleven thirty Paul puts a call through to Camilla – despite the fact she’s only a few steps away – to say that he’s going out for lunch. Camilla passes this on to the others, and they all exchange glances. In the end Malene responds with an ‘Oh, I’ll do it’ shrug.

  She walks slowly towards Paul’s office and knocks on the door.

  ‘Yes?’

  She mumbles about the German human-rights conference, but after a few minutes she gets to the point: ‘I’m not sure if you heard, but … did you know that Anne-Lise had a kind of breakdown yesterday, here in the office?’

  ‘No, I did not!’

  Malene tells him what happened. She adds that it’s time they all sat down together, so that everyone can express their views.

  Paul sits up. ‘You’re right, Malene. Good of you to tell me.’

  ‘When do you think we should meet?’

  ‘Now. We need to nip this in the bud straight away.’

  Malene goes to tell the others. On her way to the library she reflects that to behave in the way she has is surely part of being mature. A colleague has thrown wild accusations in your face and, as likely as not, sent you threatening hate-mail. You overcome your dislike and invite her to talk about moving on and working together. Could anything be more constructive?

  Anne-Lise sits behind piles of books stacked on her desk. In here, the books absorb the light and it always seems darker than the Winter Garden, even though there are the same number of lamps and windows in both rooms.

  ‘Anne-Lise, Paul would like to see us all in his room, right now.’

  Malene doesn’t smile; nor does Anne-Lise.

  ‘I’m coming.’

  Seated at the small conference table in Paul’s room, they begin their meeting. It is orderly, without the emotional undercurrents of the day before. Soberly they go through what has happened and what they ought to do in the future. Everyone is very accommodating. Iben even apologises to Anne-Lise.

  ‘Anne-Lise, we may not have paid enough attention to you. We’ll do our best to make it up to you, now that we know that you don’t like working alone as much as you’ve been doing.’

  ‘It upsets me to think that you’ve been feeling miserable all this time,’ Camilla adds. ‘You should’ve told us ages ago. Nobody has to put up with feeling like that. We should all enjoy coming to work here.’

  Anne-Lise looks, wide-eyed, from one to the other.

  Paul seems pleased. After a surprisingly short time, he sums up: ‘It’s so easy to misjudge one another, isn’t it? I’m afraid I have to accept my share of the responsibility. We ought to talk together more often about how we work as a team, like we’re doing now.’

  He turns to Anne-Lise. ‘Do you think that the others were harassing you?’

  When she speaks, her voice sounds thick and she keeps clearing her throat. ‘No … no, I don’t.’

  ‘So you were simply thrown off balance? It was all a misunderstanding?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. Then it’s settled!’

  Paul’s voice sounds as if he’s been dealt a winning hand at cards. Slowly, he looks around the table, making eye contact with each of the women.

  Then he speaks directly to Anne-Lise again: ‘But you do feel you’re on your own too much in the library?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you’d like more contact with the library users?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He takes a large sip of coffee.

  ‘What about the rest of you? Now that we’re talking about what we want from each other – what do you want from Anne-Lise?’

  Iben replies first. ‘Anne-Lise, you must make it clear what your needs are. More than you have done so far.’ She looks around at the others. ‘If Anne-Lise doesn’t tell us, we have nothing to go by.’

  ‘Obviously. Anne-Lise, will you do that?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Paul smiles delightedly at everybody. ‘Good! I’m sure we’ve all learned something today. Let’s shake hands on it, and promise that we’ll do whatever we can to create a better working atmosphere.’

  Awkwardly, hands reach out between the coffee mugs on the table.

  Paul continues to speak as he gets up to go: ‘From now on the door between the large office and the library will always be left open. And all user enquiries about books and other library matters will immediately be passed on to Anne-Lise. There, we’ve done it. Fantastic!’

  ‘Hold it!’

  Paul, we haven’t agreed to anything of the sort!’

  ‘It’s impossible to carve up user contacts like that!’

  ‘I won’t sit in a draught!’

  ‘You can’t decide just like that!’

  Paul is forced to sit down again. He tries to smile, but he is impatient.

  Iben has been pushing her coffee cup around with small circular movements. Then she sits up and looks over at Camilla.

  ‘Camilla, I’ve thought of a solution, but it’s up to you to say if you think it will work. Of course you mustn’t sit somewhere that might make you ill. But what if we moved your desk so that it wasn’t in the path of any draughts from the door?’

  ‘I suppose …’

  Malene takes over now – in fact, she and Iben had worked this out earlier, when they were alone in the copier room: ‘It is more practical for you to sit close to Paul’s door, but it won’t make a huge difference if you don’t. Besides, he isn’t in a lot of the time.’

  ‘No …’ Camilla sounds vague, looks distant.

  Malene tries to sweeten the pill: ‘What if we moved your desk closer to ours? After all, you speak to us more than to Paul. It would be nice.’ Malene glances anxiously at Iben. They haven’t discussed this.

  Iben appears to agree, but doesn’t like it. The exchange is so quick that no one else notices.

  Iben smiles. ‘Sure, it would be great if you sat closer to us. And we’ve never felt any draughts over where we are.’

  Camilla now looks quite pleased, if somewhat confused. The matter is resolved. Camilla’s desk will be moved next to Iben and Malene’s, and the library door will be kept open.

  Once more Paul is ready to end the meeting.

  Malene speaks up quickly. ‘Paul, one more thing. About the user contacts and the library!’

  He looks mildly irritated. ‘What about it?’

  ‘It’s critical that the DCGI provides the best possible service. We must organise our office with that goal in mind. After all, we’re here to adjust to the users’ needs, not the other way round.’

  Paul mutters approvingly and Malene continues: ‘Clients don’t like being shunted around to a different member of staff every time they want to ask another question.’

  ‘But it happens.’

  ‘Ideally, it shouldn’t, unless the established contact can’t provide an answer. Think of a financial institution. The bank or firm sees to it that the same person always deals with the same clients. The experts aren’t consulted unless the assigned adviser can’t deal with whatever the question is.’

  Malene stops for a moment and looks around the table. ‘We need to give our clients the best possible service we can. Besides, one of Anne-Lise’s demands has already been met.’

  Iben backs her up. ‘I agree with Malene.’

  Camilla follows her lead. ‘So do I.’

  One of Malene’s hands feels itchy and she scratches it. ‘Think about it,’ she says. ‘If Anne-Lise suddenly takes over part of my work, everyone outside the Centre will think that somehow I’ve failed to cope. It’s the only conclusion they could possibly draw.’

  Paul takes the initiative. ‘Malene, nobody is
in any doubt that you’re good at your job. Of course you’re able to handle library queries perfectly well. Truly, you’re a real asset to the Centre and we all value your work here. That was never an issue.’

  Anne-Lise says nothing.

  Malene steals a glance at Anne-Lise’s hands. Are they trembling, like yesterday? No, they’re not. She tries to establish eye contact with Anne-Lise.

  ‘Anne-Lise, surely leaving the door open to your place will make a huge difference, don’t you think?’

  Anne-Lise hesitates for what seems a long time. ‘I suppose so,’ she says, her voice still husky.

  Paul hesitates too. ‘Malene, let me think about this.’

  They are back at their desks, except for Anne-Lise. Paul has asked her to stay behind. Perhaps he wants to discuss the emails and who the sender might be? The others work away, trying to seem indifferent to what is going on behind Paul’s door.

  One of the windows on Malene’s screen shows the arrival time for Rasmus’s flight. She has already been to the airport site to check for delays, but it’s still too early.

  Paul’s door opens and Anne-Lise comes out first. Both she and Paul seem fine, which must mean that she hasn’t admitted to sending the emails. Or could it be that she confessed, in return for him not letting on to the others?

  Paul is on his way out. ‘Have a good lunch, everyone! And Malene, I’ve decided that you keep all user contacts except for book queries. Anything about books goes straight to Anne-Lise.’

  Malene reaches the lift just in time to get in with him. Paul has to raise his voice above the whining of the lift. ‘Anne-Lise feels there have been quite a few issues: airing out the copier room; lack of recognition for her work. It’s time we accommodated some of her requests. Hopefully things will pan out better in the future.’

  When Malene comes back, Iben and Camilla look up enquiringly. Malene’s impulse is to slam the desk top hard with her fist, but she can’t because of her sore fingers. What is she to say to the people who are used to calling her all day long? By now they expect her to field all their questions. Should she tell them something like: ‘So sorry, but I’m not allowed to help you with books any more because Paul has forbidden it’? Or maybe a brisk ‘I’m not allowed to deal with these questions any more’?

  Malene is the only one in the office who is familiar with every current research project; she knows the personalities involved and their requirements. Her wealth of knowledge has been built up carefully over three years. Now that Anne-Lise has got her hooks into Paul, he has ruined everything in less time than it has taken the lift to reach the ground floor.

  Malene forces herself to smile at Iben and Camilla, knowing that they can easily see how upset she is. Then she smiles again, more genuinely, because there is something funny about her inability to hide what she feels.

  She knows she must look through her article for Genocide News, but she can’t concentrate. If only she could speak with Iben right now, without having Camilla around and without Anne-Lise lurking behind the door that, ironically, is still closed.

  She has a new email, a brief message: ‘Meet you in the kitchen?’

  Malene nods. She puts down the article about ‘Europe’s Forgotten Genocide’, grabs her mug and walks over to the coffee Thermos, gives it a little shake and pretends it’s empty. She heads towards the kitchen, ostensibly to refill it. In a while Iben joins her.

  It’s a tiny, rather shabby kitchen, but there is one quality item: a gleaming coffee-maker. Malene fills the Thermos to the top – might as well, now that she’s here.

  ‘It wouldn’t bother me so much if it weren’t Anne-Lise who’s taking over. I’ve put lots of energy and time into looking after the users.’

  ‘I know, I know. It doesn’t make any sense.’

  ‘She’ll ruin everything in just a couple of weeks. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘I understand, I really do …’

  ‘The whole place will become so dull and dead! Humourless, just like Anne-Lise herself. I mean, just look at her. She’ll be the one representing the Centre to the outside world – is that what we need? I don’t think so!’

  ‘I’m sure Paul hasn’t thought it through properly.’

  ‘If Paul himself took over, the knowledge I’ve built up would still be lost, but at least he’d do it with style. But Anne-Lise! I ask you! It’s pointless.’

  ‘And did you notice the way no one wanted to talk about how we go about providing the best possible service?’

  ‘Oh, I did. Obviously, they just don’t care! There is one reason and one reason alone for what happened: Paul is a man. What does he do when he finds out that Anne-Lise has blubbered her way through an entire lunch break? He makes an instant decision in her favour. I’d better start weeping crocodile tears as well. Christ! Just imagine the changes we could make.’

  13

  So far Malene has had only one operation to treat one of her hands, but it is impossible to predict what the future might bring. The condition of arthritic joints can deteriorate suddenly, and irreversibly, or it can remain stable for long periods. The illness can move to new parts of the body and begin its crippling process there. Malene’s arthritis has remained at its present level, which is relatively mild, for several years now. Her hands and feet have caused her the most agony, but one of her knees has been troublesome too. Her sore feet make running and many sports impossible.

  Besides having to face an unpredictable future, Malene’s worst problem is the sudden attacks when her illness becomes acute. There are days when she cannot work and no painkillers are powerful enough to enable her to walk. Every two or three months – so far – Rasmus has had to carry her to a taxi that then takes her to the Rheumatology Clinic at the National Hospital, where she gets injections straight into the affected joints. After a day or so the worst pain has passed.

  She knows that some arthritic patients define their identity in terms of their illness. Arthritis dictates the books they read, the friends they want to be with, and the meetings they attend. Malene resists this. She tries to avoid drawing attention to the differences between herself and healthy people. One way is to turn up to work, even when the pain is severe, and to rely on office aids like her ergonomic computer mouse and chair. She speaks about her illness as little as possible and never complains to anyone except Rasmus and Iben.

  It is hard for Malene to get up from a chair unless she can roll it away from the table, shift her weight to her feet and then push herself upright. In the office everyone has a chair with wheels, but in her flat the wheeled chair at the dining table looks a little out of place. Usually no one remarks on it, though.

  Malene’s kitchen knives have upright handles that she can grip like a saw, so she won’t have to bend her wrist when using them, and she owns a selection of kitchen implements with thick, soft handles to make them easier to hold. With a little good will the chubby, colourful shapes could be taken for smart designer ware. Some guests have actually asked where she bought them, because they’d like to get them too. But deep down there is always the persistent underlying fear that another attack could strike at any time; the dreadful possibility that tomorrow she might fall ill again.

  You are always hoping, trying to persuade yourself. ‘I’m doing really well. I’ve hardly felt a twinge for the last five weeks. Maybe it’s gone away.’

  During the good days Malene remembers what it was like to be free and physically independent of others. Sometimes, perhaps most often in the spring, she even indulges in an expensive whim, like buying shoes that are not made by an orthopaedic shoemaker. And then, always, your hopes are crushed. It seems so arbitrary that you can’t help yourself and you start looking for explanations. Should I stop eating chocolate? Or bread made with yeast? Am I sleeping enough? Or maybe too much? Are the attacks stress-related? Am I being punished? What have I done?

  And so it goes, year after year. Malene cannot see any discernible order. The only pattern is that what happens always seems random.<
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  When the attack begins it brings not only the crippling pain, but also psychological malaise and such disappointment. So, three weeks on a no-sugar diet had no effect, nor did avoiding stress. It didn’t help to meditate or attend sessions with a healer. The disappointment mingles with the pain, the helplessness and the humiliation of having to be carried down the stairs once again.

  All this doesn’t suit Malene – she who has fought for an academic career, who now lives in a city despite the provincial life that was charted for her; she who has travelled alone in Africa and Latin America and Asia. Some people advise her to give up, to stop fantasising about better days. But she’s not like that – she can’t simply resign herself to this. She needs to beat the system. But with every new setback she succumbs to a bitter rage at having it rammed down her throat that she is not in control of her own body.

  Rasmus’s plane from Cologne is due to land just before eight in the evening. His firm is paying for a taxi from the airport, so with a bit of luck he should arrive around nine o’clock. After all those smart German hotels, Malene wants to make him feel that coming home is still special. But how to plan a festive evening for someone who has spent ten days stuffing himself with food and drink in elegant restaurants?

  Her idea is a meal that’s light and easy, something they can enjoy in the bedroom. She decides to serve prosciutto, olives, organic tomatoes with olive oil, goat’s cheese and slow-risen spelt bread from Emmery’s. Rasmus loves good bread and happily eats slice after slice with just butter and salt on top.

  To make up for the simple menu, she puts effort into the drinks, recreating the blends of freshly squeezed fruit juices that they both loved on their holiday in Vietnam. She has bought four kinds of fruit: lime, orange, peach and melon. They’ll mix the juice with the golden tequila from another of Rasmus’s trips. As an extra, she has also got the coming month’s Cinematek programme – the Film House is showing a John Cassavetes retrospective. Malene hasn’t mentioned this when they’ve spoken on the phone. She wants it to be a surprise.