by S. J. Gazan
Later they had bumped into each other in the faculty lounge, said hello, exchanged pleasantries, and then had lunch together several times. Anna admired Professor Moritzen’s serenity and sense of purpose. It was now a long time since their last lunch. Once she had defended her dissertation, she would make it up to all the people she had neglected: her daughter, Hanne Moritzen, herself.
Finally, Hanne looked up from behind the window, smiled, and waved to Anna. Anna waved back and walked through the revolving doors to Building 12.
The department of Cell Biology and Comparative Zoology consisted of offices and laboratories arranged on either side of a long, windowless corridor. The first office belonged to Professor Lars Helland, Anna’s internal supervisor. He was a tall thin man without a single wrinkle. This was remarkable. Biologists, as a rule, made a point of never protecting their skin when doing fieldwork. The only clues that revealed he was in his late fifties were white flecks in his soft beard, a slowly spreading bald patch, and a photograph on his desk of a smiling woman and a teenage girl with braces on her teeth.
Anna was convinced that Professor Helland loathed her; she certainly loathed him. During the nine months he had been supervising her dissertation, he had barely taken the time to offer her any guidance. He was permanently crotchety and uninterested, and when she asked a specific question, he would go off on an irrelevant tangent and couldn’t be stopped. It had angered Anna from the start and she had seriously considered making a formal complaint. Now she had resigned herself to the situation, and she tried, as much as possible, to avoid him. She had even left her dissertation in his cubbyhole last Friday, rather than hand it to him in person. When she checked the cubby for the fourth time, her dissertation was gone.
The door to Professor Helland’s office was ajar. Anna tiptoed past it. Through the gap she could see part of Helland’s recliner, the last centimeters of two gray trouser legs, feet in socks and one shoe lying carelessly discarded with the sole facing up. Typical. When Helland was in his office, he spent most of his time lying in his recliner, reading, surrounded by a Coliseum-like structure of books and journals piled up in disarray around him. Even on the very rare occasions they had met, Helland had been reclining as if he were a nobleman receiving an audience.
Helland wasn’t alone. Anna could hear an agitated voice and she instinctively slowed down. Could it be Johannes? She tried to make out what they were talking about, but failed. She would have to find out later, she thought, and accelerated down the corridor.
Anna and Johannes shared a study. Johannes had finished his graduate degree, but he had been allowed to stay on because he was cowriting a paper with Professor Helland, who had been his supervisor as well. Anna could vividly recall her first day in the department last January when Helland had shown her into the study where Johannes was already working. Anna recognized him instantly from her undergraduate days and had spontaneously thought “Oh, shit.” Later she wondered at her reaction because, until then, they had never actually spoken.
Johannes looked weird, and he was weird. He had red hair and looked at her as though he were leering at her with droopy eyes behind his round, unfashionable glasses. For the first three weeks, she deeply resented having to share and office with him. His desk looked like a battlefield, there were half-empty mugs of tea everywhere, he never aired the room, never tidied up, every day he forgot to switch his cell phone to silent and though he apologized, it was still infuriating. However, he seemed delighted to have acquired someone to share the tiny study with and talked nonstop about himself, his research, and global politics.
During those first few weeks Anna deliberately kept him at a distance. She went to the cafeteria on her own, even though it would have been normal to ask if he wanted to join her, she gave curt replies to his questions to discourage him from striking up a conversation, and she declined his friendly suggestion that they take turns to bring cakes. Yet Johannes persisted. It was as if he simply failed to register her aloofness. He chatted and told stories, he laughed out loud at his own jokes, he brought in interesting articles she might want to read, he always made tea for both of them and added milk and honey to her cup, just the way she liked it. And, at some point, Anna started to thaw. Johannes was warm and funny, and he made her laugh like she hadn’t laughed in… well, years. Johannes was extraordinarily gifted, and she had allowed herself to be put off by his peculiar appearance. Nor were his eyes droopy, as she had first thought, they were open and attentive, as though he were making an effort, as though what she said really mattered.
“You’re wearing makeup!” she exclaimed one spring morning, not long after they had become friends.
Johannes was already behind his desk when Anna arrived. He was wearing leather trousers and a Hawaiian shirt, his hair was smoothed back with wax and his long white fingers were splayed across the keyboard. His glasses magnified his brown eyes by 50 percent, so when he looked at her, there was no way she could miss it.
“I’m a goth,” he said with a mysterious smile.
“You’re a what?” Anna dumped her bag on her chair and gave him a baffled look.
“And things got a bit wild last Friday. I was in drag,” he continued, surprisingly. “I thought I had got all that stuff off.” He waved her closer. “Come on over, I’ve got something for you to look at.”
He showed her some pictures on the web while he talked. The club he had been to was called the Red Mask and events were held the first Friday of every month. The club’s name was inspired by the Edgar Allan Poe short story The Masque Mask of the Red Death, and it was a meeting place for goths from all over Scandinavia. Goths were a subculture, Johannes explained when he saw the blank expression on Anna’s face and pointed to a photograph. Anna failed to recognize the slightly androgynous-looking woman with red hair, black lipstick, and dramatic eyes, wearing a tight black corset, a string vest, leather trousers, and studs. The caption below the photo read Orlando. Anna frowned.
“It’s me,” he said, impatiently.
“You’re kidding!” Anna exclaimed, thinking she really was an idiot. It was obvious: Johannes was gay!
“What does ‘Orlando’ mean?” she asked.
Johannes looked exasperated.
“Orlando is a reference to the eponymous hero of the novel by Virginia Woolf, obviously. Orlando starts off as a man and is later transformed into a woman. Like me, at nightfall.” He laughed. Anna gawked and said: “Okay.”
“But, no, I’m not gay,” he added, as though he had read her mind.
“So what are you then?” Anna asked, before she could stop herself.
“I’m into women.” He winked at her. “And, in addition, I’m a goth. From time to time I go to goth parties in drag; women’s clothing, that is.”
“So do you all have sex with each other or what?” Anna blurted out.
Johannes raised his eyebrows. “Sounds like someone’s interested in going?”
“Shut up.” Anna threw an eraser at him, but she couldn’t help smiling. “That’s not why I’m asking. I was just curious. You look like a…” she nodded in the direction of the screen. Johannes followed her gaze.
“Yes, I’m well and truly dolled up,” he said, pleased with himself. He drummed his fingers on the table and looked at Anna as though he was debating with himself whether or not he could be bothered to explain this to her.
“There’s no sex at the Red Mask,” he said eventually. “But quite a few people belong to the goth scene as well as the fetish scene. Me, for instance.” He gave her a probing look. “That club is called Inkognito, and events take place twice a month.” He scratched one eyebrow. “And yes, there we have sex. There are darkrooms, and people arrive dressed in latex and leather. Here you can be hung from the wall and given a damned good thrashing if that’s your thing.”
Anna held up her hand. “Yes, thank you, Johannes. That will do.”
“And prudes are very much in demand on the fetish scene. Very.” Johannes flung out his arms by w
ay of invitation. Anna threw a notebook at him; Johannes parried by rolling his chair backward. He roared with laughter. Anna could restrain herself no longer and joined in. With Johannes, everything seemed so easy.
The only time the harmony between them soured was when the subject turned to Professor Helland. Shortly after they had become friends, Anna asked Johannes what was bothering Helland. In her opinion, he was always in a hurry; he was grumpy and vague. To her great surprise, Johannes seemed genuinely baffled. What did she mean? Helland had been a brilliant supervisor for him, he protested, beyond reproach.
“Don’t you find him distracted and apathetic?” she asked.
Johannes didn’t think so at all.
One day they almost had a fight about Helland. Anna happened to mention that she often fantasized about playing practical jokes on the supervisor; hiding his favorite reference book, for example, or removing a small, but vital part of his dissecting microscope, which was worth millions of kroner—just a tiny bolt so the lens wouldn’t focus or the eye pieces couldn’t be adjusted to fit the distance between Helland’s eyes. Or how about grafting mold onto his wallpaper? Or releasing a couple of mice in his office? Something that would wind him up without resulting in serious repercussions for her? They were enjoying a tea break and had discussed a film they had seen, they had been laughing, but Johannes paled when she shared her fantasy.
“That’s not funny,” he said. “Why do you say stuff like that? That’s really not funny.”
“Hey, relax,” Anna said, instantly embarrassed at suddenly finding herself isolated with an evidently highly inappropriate idea.
“You can’t go around playing tricks on people,” Johannes had muttered.
“It was just a joke,” Anna said.
“It didn’t sound like it,” Johannes said.
“Hang on, what are we really talking about?” Anna asked, defensively, and turned on her chair to face Johannes who was bent over his keyboard. “Are you saying you think I would actually hurt Professor Helland?”
“No, of course not.” But Johannes sounded unconvinced.
“It’s beyond me why you always have to defend him,” she continued, outraged.
“And it’s beyond me why you always have to attack him.” Johannes gave her a look of disbelief. “Honestly, Anna, just give the man a chance.”
“He’s not committed,” she said and could hear how ridiculous that sounded.
“And so he deserves mold on his wallpaper that will give him a headache, itchy eyes, and a runny nose?”
“It was a joke!”
Johannes studied her closely.
“Tell me, why do you have to be so harsh sometimes? Your tone… it can be really cutting. And Helland isn’t so bad. In many ways, he’s cool.”
Anna turned to her screen and hammered away at the keyboard. She was close to tears. Johannes reheated the kettle and made more tea.
“Here, gorgeous,” he said, affectionately, placing a cup on her desk. He nudged her softly.
“It was just a joke, all right?” she mumbled.
“But it wasn’t funny,” he replied and went back to his desk.
From that day on Johannes and Anna avoided discussing their mutual supervisor, even though Anna was finding Professor Helland’s behavior increasingly bizarre. One evening, after taking Lily to Cecilie’s, she cycled to the Institute to work. It was dusk and the parking lot behind the building was filled with dancing blue shadows. There was the leafy scent that carried the end to an unusually chilly summer. Pigeons were pecking at the ground by the bicycle stand. They scattered when her bicycle keeled over. Johannes had gone home hours ago, which was a shame.
Professor Helland materialized out of nowhere in the twilight. He stood with his back to her, completely rigid, right where the birds had just been congregating and he looked like a wax figure. He seemed unaware of the birds and didn’t turn around. Anna felt unnerved and carefully walked toward him. The light was fading, and she moved in a soft curve, hoping he would, at least, say “hi.” But still he didn’t turn. He remained with his back to her, apparently doing nothing. Anna looked for his car, but she couldn’t see it. She looked for his bicycle, but couldn’t see that either. Nor did he have car keys in his hand, or a bag slung over his shoulder, and he wasn’t wearing a jacket. She was just inside his field of vision now, so she cleared her throat. Helland turned his head and stared blankly at her; he opened his mouth to say something, but only a bubbling sound and some white froth emerged from the corner of his mouth.
“Are you all right?” Anna called out; she was frightened now.
“Gho whay,” he mumbled and lashed out at the air. He gave her a furious stare, but the blow had missed if, indeed, it had been Helland’s intention to push her away.
“Gho whay,” he repeated, a little louder. Some froth dripped from his mouth and disappeared into the darkness.
“You want me to go away?” Anna asked.
Helland nodded. “Yes, go away,” he said, very clearly this time.
Anna had left him there. Her heart had pounded all the way up to the second floor where she let herself into the photocopier room, which faced the parking lot. She stood in the dark window, watching Professor Helland. He stayed there for a while. Then he shuddered deeply, jerked his head, and shook first one, then his other leg and disappeared around the corner to the main parking lot.
She decided to tell Johannes about the incident the next day, and, to begin with, he looked annoyed with her for breaking their tacit agreement not to discuss Helland. But then, to Anna’s huge surprise, he admitted that he, too, had noticed that Helland wasn’t firing on all cylinders. Johannes and Helland were working on a paper based on Johannes’s dissertation and, to be honest, Helland hadn’t displayed his usual professional acuity.
All of a sudden Anna said: “And what’s that thing he’s got in his eye?”
Johannes looked blank.
“He’s got something in his eye,” Anna said, pointing to the corner of her own right eye. “A small hard pouch of some kind. Do you think he’s ill?”
Johannes shrugged. Anna had been unable to figure out if Helland really did have something wrong with his eye, because the only times she ever caught a glimpse of him were when he hurried down the corridor, inevitably leaving mayhem in his wake, roaring “morning!” at the open door to their office before disappearing into the elevator.
Johannes bent over his keyboard again, and Anna decided to drop the subject.
Anna had moved to Copenhagen in 1999 when she was accepted into the biology program at the university. Jens, her father, was already living there, and he had helped her find the apartment in Florsgade. Jens and Cecilie had divorced when Anna was eight. Anna had stayed on the island of Fyn with her mother, in the village of Brænderup, just outside Odense, the largest city on the island. The village consisted of around fifty houses; the community was close-knit, and it was a lovely place to grow up. For years Anna was uncertain as to whether or not her parents had permanently split because Jens, like some hopeful suitor, never stopped visiting them. Anna knew it had been a source of friction to the girlfriends Jens dated after Cecilie; not that Jens and Anna spent much time discussing their feelings, but he had once remarked that it happened to be the case. His girlfriends resented that he would rather spend Christmas with Cecilie (and Anna), would rather go on vacation with Cecilie (and Anna), and never forgot Cecilie’s birthday (but managed, on two occasions, to forget Anna’s). Anna knew her father loved her, but he worshipped Cecilie. Anyone could see that.
Anna had once told her best friend Karen that she thought parents liked each other better than they liked their children. They had both been ten years old at the time. They were building a secret hideaway, and Anna had asked Karen why grownups seemed to like each other more, and why children seemed to come second, and Karen had said that was just not true. Karen’s mom said she loved Karen more than anyone on the planet. That grownups could choose whether or not they wanted to
be together, but that you loved children all the time, for as long as you lived, and that you never regretted having them. Karen and Anna had almost ended up having a row. In the middle of it all, Jens called them into the kitchen for toast and chocolate milkshakes. Jens and Cecilie must have been divorced at that point but, nevertheless, Jens was there, in the kitchen, reading the newspaper by the window. And making toast.
The girls came in and Karen said to Jens: “You don’t really like Cecilie more than Anna, do you?” He lowered the newspaper, appearing shocked. Anna was small with dark hair; Karen’s hair was blond and curly.
“Why on earth do you want to know that?” he had replied, and Anna had blushed. She hadn’t wanted Jens to know about this, not at all, she hadn’t wanted Karen to ask him. Anna glared defiantly at the tablecloth. She couldn’t remember what happened next, only that she refused to play with Karen for the rest of that day and that she took back the special stamp she had given her, even though Karen said she couldn’t do that. However, that evening Jens told her something. When Anna had been born, Cecilie had been very ill, back problems of some sort. She was in great pain and had been in and out of hospital, Jens explained, and even though Anna only weighed six pounds, Cecilie hadn’t been allowed to lift her. That had made her feel really sad. Jens tucked Anna into bed and kissed her forehead.
“And that’s why I take good care of Cecilie,” he said. “Special care.”
Anna nodded. Anna, too, always tried really hard to please Cecilie.
“But I love you more than anyone, Anna,” he said, and suddenly looked very serious. “Parents just do. Otherwise something’s wrong.”
The next day Anna gave the stamp back to Karen. Along with a small rubber animal that could walk down the window all by itself.
When Anna told Jens in the spring of 2004 that she was pregnant by Thomas and they had decided to keep the baby, Jens’s response was, “Why?”