The Exception

by Christian Jungersen

  ‘Malene, don’t try. Just wait. I’ll be with you soon.’

  Cycling over to Malene’s she thinks, as she did over and over again during the night, that they shouldn’t have deleted the email from Tatiana. Regardless of what Anne-Lise has done to us, she tells herself, we must make sure that we’re not equally at fault. We mustn’t be tempted to do things that are simply wrong, or else we’ll be stooping to her level. And then we can’t claim that we’re simply fighting for what’s best for the Centre. Iben pulls out her mobile phone and dials DCGI to say that she’ll be in late and that Malene is ill.

  Anne-Lise answers; Camilla isn’t in yet.

  Iben tells her about Malene’s attack of arthritis.

  ‘That’s awful. Is it bad?’ If you didn’t know her, you wouldn’t have a clue that she hated Malene.

  Iben overtakes a bicycle pulling a trailer.

  ‘Anne-Lise, one more thing. When I saw her at Louisiana, Lea mentioned that Tatiana is about to start on a major paper. I thought you’d be the right person to suggest books from our library for her research.’

  ‘I could do that. What’s the subject?’

  ‘Don’t know. But, listen, why don’t you phone her and ask if you can help?’

  Anne-Lise pauses briefly before answering. ‘That’s so nice of you. I’ll do that. Thank you for the advice.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. I’m just helping a colleague.’

  ‘No, Iben, it’s different. I can’t tell you how pleased I am.’

  Anne-Lise sounds unusually happy. Iben loses her concentration a little as she looks over the tops of the parked cars to try to find a gap in the traffic and slip across Østerbro Street.

  She unlocks the door to Malene’s flat with the spare key she keeps for times like this. Malene is lying on the sofa. Before he left, Rasmus helped her into a loose-fitting tracksuit, made her some breakfast and helped her to go to the toilet. Rasmus is on his way to Glasgow with a group of other salesmen.

  Malene is pale, but even without her make-up she still looks lovely.

  ‘Malene, what lousy luck.’

  ‘Umm.’

  ‘What have you taken?’

  ‘Two ibuprofen at five this morning. And then two paracetamols and then two more ibuprofen. I’m not allowed any more.’

  ‘And it got this bad in just one night?’

  ‘Yes, it did.’

  Iben packs an overnight bag. Then, while Malene is still lying down, Iben gently slides on her shoes, lacing them loosely but tying the knots firmly. Iben puts Malene’s arm round her own neck, careful not to jolt her friend’s hand, and then, as effectively as she can, she helps her to stand up. When they reach the hall, Iben eases Malene into her coat.

  On the landing, Iben lets Malene lean against the banister while she quickly grabs her jacket and picks up both of their bags. Iben can see that Malene’s eyes are full of pain, but also of something else – something that surely no one else, except Rasmus, has seen.

  Making their way down the stairs is the hardest part, but together they have mastered it. Iben tells the waiting taxi-driver how to help Malene into the cab.

  Once they’re through Door 42 of the hospital, manoeuvring is easier, because here the corridors are wide and the lifts roomy. The Out Patients at the rheumatological clinic has no proper waiting room, only a selection of chairs and magazines placed in a cul-de-sac in the corridor. Iben helps Malene out of her coat, finds her a chair and another one for her leg, and then goes off to register her arrival.

  Now it will take at most an hour until a doctor comes along to drain the fluid out of the inflamed knee joint. If Malene had the energy, she might have felt some relief. As it is, all she can do is endure it.

  Iben sits down next to her. ‘Is there anything I can do for you?’

  Malene has put one of her hands lightly on her swollen knee. She stares straight ahead. ‘No, Iben, nothing more. Thank you so much.’

  ‘You know that all you have to do is say …’

  ‘It’s OK. You can go off to work now, if you like.’

  ‘No way. I’ll stay here with you. But I need to go downstairs and make some calls. They won’t take long. Is there anything you’d like me to get you from the kiosk?’

  Malene doesn’t move. ‘No, thanks.’

  Iben walks with long, swift steps, aware of the ease with which she can move. Dear God, thank you, she thinks, and then feels ashamed.

  But she has nothing to be ashamed of. After all, she is doing everything she can to help Malene. She has no reason whatever to feel bad.

  And, she thinks, she was also being helpful to Anne-Lise.

  The air is chilly and still damp after the night’s rain. A handful of people are wandering around between the parked cars, smoking or talking into their mobile phones. Iben phones Nisa at the Danish Institute for International Studies to ask for current statistics on the ongoing genocide of Amazonian Indians. Nisa asks her how things are going at DCGI.

  Iben has a shrewd idea of what she’s angling at. ‘Good. We’re just preparing the Chechnya issue.’

  Sure enough, Nisa soon gets to the point. ‘Somebody told me you’re having problems with Anne-Lise?’

  Iben has to smile at how quickly gossip spreads. She’s glad that she and Malene have managed to defend themselves, but knows she must be discreet. ‘Really? Who told you that?’

  ‘Just something Erling said.’

  That’s all right. Erling sits on the same research committee as Ole Henningsen. It wouldn’t be bad if the information filtered through that way.

  ‘Erling? What did he tell you?’

  ‘He told me that Anne-Lise has an alcohol problem.’

  ‘Nisa, I’m not sure. But now that you say it … well, it would explain a lot.’

  Nisa tries to find out more, but Iben’s brief responses demonstrate that at DCGI they intend to keep Anne-Lise’s problems internal.

  After the Louisiana conference, a week and a half ago, Iben and Malene had got together in Malene’s flat to plan a self-defence strategy. If Anne-Lise keeps criticising them behind their backs, they could end up being sacked, and then they’d never be able to get a job in Human Rights again. With all the changes going on at the moment, they knew they didn’t have much time. They needed to establish that Anne-Lise’s perceptions of her colleagues were grossly distorted. Iben then swung into action. The following day she called Lea to ‘chat about the conference’. She mentioned how she and Malene viewed recent events in the DCGI office. This was when Lea, who had once had to share an office with an alcoholic, asked if Anne-Lise drank too much.

  Iben hadn’t given this a moment’s thought before, but now things suddenly fell into place. So much would make perfect sense if Anne-Lise were hitting the bottle because of problems at home.

  Lea must have passed the story on, because there were other vague enquiries from contacts at the university. Iben and Malene both realised that to hint at their misgivings about Anne-Lise’s possible alcohol problem was the wisest way to make people realise what a difficult and unstable person she was to work with. Throughout this whole unpleasant business, Iben has urged that they should not aim to harm Anne-Lise more than they absolutely have to. It is important to her that she behaves as a ‘good’ person would, given the circumstances. So Iben has tried to stick to this approach in spite of Anne-Lise ingratiating herself with Lea, Brigitte and others in the network; and despite the way Anne-Lise seems unaffected by the unpleasant atmosphere in the office that weighs so heavily on Iben and Malene. Anne-Lise seems prepared to fight on for ever, as if she’s in her element on the field of battle.

  When Iben returns to the rheumatology clinic, Malene is still waiting to see the doctor. Her eyes are fixed on the wall in front of her, and her breathing is shallow and troubled. She keeps her arms tight in to her body.

  The needle that the doctor will soon use is a massive affair, a small tube with a sharply pointed tip, designed to allow viscous fluid to flow in. Iben knows that s
he should go into the examination room with Malene and hold her hand during the procedure.

  She begins to tell Malene about the phone call, but soon gives up: Malene is too distracted to respond. They sit there for almost another hour before the doctor calls Malene. He is new to both of them, but comes across as trustworthy. His neatly trimmed white beard and relaxed movements remind Iben of Ole, only younger and some ten kilograms lighter.

  Iben and the doctor help Malene onto the couch. He palpates her knee to assess the extent of the swelling. The pressure inside the joint is so great that a bulge, distended with fluid, has pushed its way between two muscle tendons at the back of her knee. He seems puzzled.

  ‘And you tell me everything was fine last night?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He slides his hand along her leg below the knee. ‘I see. Well, it’s most unusual for the swelling to reach this state so quickly.’

  ‘I know. It’s never been like this before.’

  ‘What did you do yesterday? Any sudden or odd movements?’

  Iben watches the many little twitches of pain that come and go on Malene’s face. She wishes she could do something to help her.

  Malene tries to sound pleasant, but her voice is dry and squeaky. ‘Well, I did.’

  The doctor focuses his entire attention on her knee.

  Malene tries to explain. ‘I ran around. Moved faster than I normally do. But I felt fine at the time.’

  At last he looks up, gazing at her calmly. ‘You certainly managed to damage your knee.’

  Even though he is addressing Malene, he looks across to Iben, almost as if he thought she were her friend’s partner.

  ‘What you must always keep in mind is that your joints are no longer what they once were. The bone surfaces are both softer and rougher and that’s why it’s easier to injure them. Also, because the bone is more exposed, it’s more prone to cracking. Fragments can come off inside the joint. Your pain may well be due to one of these small local fractures. Which means that I’ll have to send you off to X-ray before I aspirate the joint.’

  ‘But … how long will that take?’

  ‘I’ll phone them right away and find out when they can see you. Schedules are tight here, but let’s hope they’ll be able to fit you in.’

  He has already lifted the receiver when Malene bursts into tears. ‘Can’t you drain my knee now? Just a little?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. It could cause damage.’

  ‘Please, can’t you do something? Take some out. Just a little.’

  From where she lies on the couch her head is turned towards the doctor. He leans forward across the desk. ‘When I tell you I can’t, it’s not because I want to make you miserable, but because I’m doing what’s best for you – for your knee.’

  He arranges with the X-ray receptionist that, if all goes well, Malene will be seen in about an hour’s time.

  ‘I’ll phone the porters. They’ll send someone to take you across.’

  Tears are streaming down Malene’s face, but she makes no sound.

  Iben’s voice is shrill. ‘Can’t you give her something for the pain? It can’t be right to leave her in this state!’

  ‘Of course. Tell me, Malene, what have you taken so far?’

  When he hears the quantities of painkillers that Malene has swallowed this morning, he says it is essential that she wait before taking any more. He promises that, by the time she’s allowed any more medication, he will already have drained her knee joint.

  As Iben helps Malene out of the room, the doctor assures them that he’ll contact the X-ray department again and try to get Malene in earlier. A porter has come along with a wheelchair, and pushes her along the dilapidated corridors. Iben accompanies them, carrying their coats.

  Then they wait. Again. The X-ray waiting area is a long, narrow passage where patients, attached to their drips, sleep in their beds. It’s hard to think of anything to chat about. Iben feels it’s not right to rattle on about any old things, but there’s not much else to say. It hurts and that’s it.

  After half an hour Malene finally speaks. ‘Rasmus will be landing soon.’

  ‘Of course. It’s annoying that you’re not allowed to keep your mobile on.’

  There are drops of sweat on Malene’s rigid upper lip. She says nothing, so Iben carries on talking.

  ‘He would have phoned. No question about that.’

  Iben hears Malene’s deliberate breathing. In. Pause. Out. Pause. In. Pause. It’s maddening not to be able to do something.

  ‘Malene, would you like me to pop outside with your mobile to see if there’s a message from Rasmus?’

  A stranger slowly turns her face towards Iben and nods. Iben’s smile feels artificial.

  ‘Good. I’ll do that.’

  She takes Malene’s mobile from her coat pocket, smiling all the time, and heads outside.

  There is a message from Rasmus. Against the background noise of the airport his low voice is like a caress.

  ‘Hello. Squidgy bum. I have to board soon. Two seconds. Peter is OK again, just like you thought. “Let’s make that a dozen USB connections.” That’s it, not another word. You’re so smart! I’ll be home before you know it and then I’ll suck and lick you until you drive the people downstairs crazy and they start banging on the ceiling and the windows crack. But we’ll carry on anyway, without windowpanes, and then the next-door neighbours will give us grief too. But we won’t give a fuck, will we? Sweet Malene. Kiss.’

  Iben presses the key to save the message for Malene. Then she stands still, the cold piercing her. No one has ever spoken to her like that. No one has ever used that kind of voice, a sweet, sexy voice.

  So what?

  She thinks of Gunnar. Malene keeps him on hold ‘just in case’. Gunnar. Right now, he’s presumably sitting in his editor’s chair at the Development office. Lord alone knows what he thinks. How much he envies Rasmus, perhaps. Rasmus, who is allowed to leave such messages for Malene.

  When Malene met Rasmus three years ago, she thought he’d be nothing more than a fling. For weeks she told stories about him, giving away the most intimate details, the weird or selfish things he did, his lopsided cock – everything. Then, all of a sudden, Malene stopped handing out these titbits. Iben has a pretty good idea that it is now Rasmus who is learning amazingly personal things about her. There’s no telling what kind of image he has of his beloved’s best friend.

  When Rasmus is not away on sales trips, Malene often complains that they don’t see enough of each other. Most evenings he isn’t back from work much before bedtime. She sometimes seems happier when he’s away on business, because then she can look forward to seeing him again and forgets how late he works when he’s back home.

  Once Malene told her delightedly that she and Rasmus had been talking about having a baby. Iben asked about their plans for a while afterwards, but now it’s been at least a year since Malene mentioned it.

  The days when she is most down, Iben thinks about her friend’s situation and suspects that Rasmus will be off the moment he finds the right woman. Even when she isn’t feeling pessimistic, Iben still believes that Malene and Rasmus’s relationship has lasted only because of Rasmus’s constant travels. Yet Iben hardly dares to think of how bitter Malene would be if Rasmus were to leave her.

  Iben punches in Gunnar’s work number on her mobile but then deletes each number, one by one. Next, she phones Tatiana’s secretary in the RTC office and asks for some pictures from their archive for the next DCGI newsletter.

  Iben knows the secretary well and casually slips in mention of their problems at work. ‘I’m not positive that she drinks too much. Or else, it could be that some of her problems are caused by trying to stop. I have seen her shaking like a leaf once … Yes, in the office.’

  Iben returns to the long passage crowded with semi-conscious patients waiting to be X-rayed.

  ‘Malene, Rasmus left a message for you. It’s a great message.’

  Malene does
n’t respond.

  ‘He says … he’s crazy about you and you’re going to have a fantastic time when he gets back.’

  Still no response. It’s clear that Malene has lost touch with her surroundings; there are beads of sweat all over her pale face and she radiates discomfort.

  Iben leans back in her chair, looking around for the usual supply of torn magazines. There are none. She checks her bag, but seems to have forgotten to put in the thin volume of lectures by Christopher Browning that she is currently reading. All she can do is sit in silence by Malene’s side.

  They wait until Malene is called in. Then they wait for Malene’s X-rays to be developed. And then they wait for the porter to turn up with the wheelchair.

  Back in the rheumatology clinic, the doctor immediately sees how poorly Malene is by now, and brings them into the consulting room at once.

  Malene sits quietly on the paper-coated couch as he examines the X-rays. He phones Medical Imaging to consult with a radiologist. The X-ray shows a small, dark line across one of the bones in the knee joint.

  When he has finished the call, he is still uncertain. ‘The X-rays don’t show anything unusual. I want to examine your knee again more thoroughly, to look for injured tendons and suchlike.’

  Iben can tell by Malene’s face that this is not the time to hold her aching hand.

  After more probing, it doesn’t take long before five large syringes are lined up on the little table next to the couch, each one filled with turgid, yellow fluid.

  At last, Malene feels better. She sits up, but cautiously.

  ‘Ouch …! Fuck … oh, no!’ She sighs deeply, many times, and looks around the room as if she hadn’t seen it before. ‘Oh, God. It still hurts so badly. But at least I can feel the rest of me.’ She blinks and turns her head, first to one side, and then to the other. ‘Thank you.’ And then, ‘Iben … thank you.’

  Iben feels tearful as she looks at her friend, but doesn’t cry. It’s all over for now. Malene is gradually becoming her old self.

  ‘Oh, man! Practically everything still hurts. Especially my feet and hands. That came on overnight as well.’