A moment later Malene returns and whispers to Iben: Anne-Lise has talked with Erik Prins about me.

About you?

That woman is f.u.c.king unbelievable.

I overheard some of your conversation.

Thought you might.

Erik Prins is a small man with a potbelly and oddly shiny skin. His clothes look as if hes had them for decades. He is probably in his late thirties, but people think of him as much older.

For years Erik has been working on a huge tome about Scandinavian foreign policy after the Second World War. n.o.body knows how his years of writing have been financed possibly a grant or, more likely, some kind of state benefit. No one has wanted to know enough to ask.

Erik often comes to the Center to read or look for new books. When he has been sitting in the large meeting room they usually need to air it afterward. He likes to eat while he reads, and his dull food parcels always carry a powerful smell of liver sausage and damp rye bread. Even so, Malene has always singled Erik out among the users of the Center and gives him the best possible support. She often finds time for a chat as well. They talk about this and that, including Eriks old cla.s.smate from his time as a history student, Frederik Thorsteinsson.

Paul has told them that, on several occasions, the DCIG board has noted Eriks praise of the Centers excellent service. Without fail, Frederik pa.s.ses Eriks opinions on to the board, and his p.r.o.nouncements have come to be regarded as practically infallible. The members are highly educated researchers, experts in their fields, who feel that the shabby little man speaks for Everyman and is a perfect representative of the Centers typical user.

Iben smiles, but she is concerned. I must say, Ive never heard of anyone who hasnt been happy with your work. And Erik, of all people! That spoiled little man!

She doesnt give a d.a.m.n if Anne-Lise can hear what shes saying, but she lowers her voice slightly to keep Paul out of it.

Maybe he complimented Anne-Lise. You know, like you do when you first collaborate with somebody new oiling the wheels, kind of thing. h.e.l.l have told her something like shes very good at her job and he wishes he had known about her before.

Ibens eyes shift away uneasily, just for a second. Then she continues: Thats the kind of thing a person would say. He couldve said it to you. Or to me, or anybody.

Malene leans back in her chair with a weary sigh. True. Everyone says things like that, just to be friendly. Its too bad that Anne-Lise takes it all so seriously.

But later on, when Malene and Iben get together in the copier room, Malene brings up the subject again. Iben realizes this will take some time and sits down on the table. The copier thumps on and on, copying, sorting, and stapling a large selection of newspaper cuttings that Camilla should have gotten ready for circulation to the board today. Now Iben has taken on the job.

Malene paces restlessly up and down. Ive been thinking about what Anne-Lise said. How come she says that Ive tried to exclude her? She obviously believes it. Maybe she has cross-examined Erik about it.

Iben tucks her hands under her thighs. Or it could be a bit of everything? He thought that hed better be kind and she responded by questioning him.

Yes, and he felt pressured to say something about me and theyve ended up discussing me in detail. We mustnt forget that now he depends on her, more than on anyone else here. Being on good terms with her is more important for Erik than getting on with me now. Its Anne-Lise who can give him special treats.

Yep. Now what?

Iben, this is important. If she goes on gossiping behind my back, she might turn lots of people against me. Like Frederik. And Ole. Anyone.

She could.

Yes. So I must find out.

Today Paul joins them for lunch. The atmosphere is tense, although n.o.body mentions Erik Prins or the conversation in the library. Earlier, Malene went down to the supermarket to get fresh rolls. She asked if she could get anything for anyone else. Anne-Lise handed her the money to buy a portion of carpaccio, the kind that comes with olive oil and grated Parmesan. Now she says that everyone must have some, but apart from Paul no one does.

After a while Iben cannot bear the silence, which is broken only by terse exchanges; she decides to tell them about the book she has been reading into the small hours of the morning. Grith lent it to her the other day.

Its about split personalities. Its a fact that nine out of ten patients are women. And almost all of them have been subjected to violence or other abuse in childhood. The author puts it quite plainly: A split personality is a little girl imagining that the abuse is directed toward another person. Which is why at least one of the personalities is often still a little girl.

Griths book is called Dissociative Ident.i.ty Disorder: Diagnosis, Clinical Features, and Treatment of Multiple Personality. Maybe this isnt an ideal subject for discussion right now, but Iben tries to speak without hinting at any of the office subtexts.

Its very hard for anyone to know if she has DID a split ident.i.ty, that is. As your normal self, you cant recall having had a bad childhood. Many patients forget altogether and might even remember the man who abused them as a good person.

The others stay focused on their food and dont respond to what she is telling them. They do seem interested, though, so Iben carries on.

The best indication is that you cant remember what youve done for a period of time, or you feel youve been behaving out of character. But its not cut and dried. A survey of people with no psychological problems showed that about seventy-five percent of the subjects have had moments when they easily did something that they used to think was difficult. More than fifty percent said that after driving a car for a long time, there were whole stretches of the journey they couldnt remember. And one out of every ten said theyd found themselves wearing clothes they couldnt remember putting on.

Suddenly Malene laughs, just as she is about to bite into her cheese sandwich.

Iben, youre such a geek! Come on, what next? A blow-by-blow account of someones thesis on postcolonial literature?

Iben stops rattling off the study results.

After the break, Iben senses that Malene again has something to say, for her ears only. The two of them wait for the others to leave the room. Ole, the board chairman, phones and wants to speak to Paul, who hurries off. Anne-Lise does not leave and makes a show of settling down with the daily paper.

Malene and Iben give up and wander back to their desks. While she was out shopping, Malene had called Erik Prins.

He swore that under no circ.u.mstances would he have said anything about not being pleased with my work. It seems that Anne-Lise was fishing for something she could use against me. At least, thats the impression Erik got.

Malene has been composed throughout the lunch break. Now she is sputtering with anger. Im going to ask Paul to see me. Theres no way I can put up with the way Anne-Lise keeps undermining my standing with the users. I have to work with them every day. Shes going around looking for chances to bad-mouth me. Its so disloyal and unprofessional, trying to stab me in the back like that. She leans forward. Paul must understand that weve stood by that woman for long enough. And its likely that shes the e-mailer. The idea that its Camillas ex-boyfriend is just stupid!

Anne-Lise walks by and Iben and Malene fall silent. With Anne-Lise back in the library they must finish their talk elsewhere.

The coffee thermos is full and they have already spent a long time in the copier room, which means that they have just about used up any legitimate excuse. Thats too bad, though. What they were talking about cant wait.

In the kitchen the rickety dishwasher is churning and the smell of the detergent mixes with the ever-present smell of coffee. The air is hot and damp from the steam that escapes from the whirling hot water. Side by side, they perch on the edge of the kitchen table.

Malene puts a hand to her forehead. Then she asks Iben to come along to the talk with Paul. You know he always takes what you say seriously.

What about Camilla? Wouldnt it be better to wait until all three of us are here so we can see him together?

Yes, I suppose so. Of course itd be best. Malene looks vaguely at the dull day beyond the steamy windowpane. Its just Im not sure. You know as well as I do that if Paul puts pressure on Camilla sh.e.l.l probably back down. The two of us are stronger when we act alone especially if she comes along and then, halfway through, starts to agree with Paul.

Iben knows this is true and nods.

Malene looks sad. I feel that Ive tried everything to get on better with Anne-Lise. But today Ive had to face the fact that Ive failed.

Iben rubs her thumb against the tabletop. She doesnt say anything and Malene carries on.

The only thing we can do is regroup and move on.

Iben looks up from the table and meets Malenes eyes. What about waiting for a few days? You know, to let things cool off a little.

chapter 19.

the cafe is darker than Ibens usual haunts. As far as she can guess, it is a place where journalists, technicians, and musicians hang out, most of them after working in Broadcasting House just opposite.

As always since the e-mail, she chooses to sit with her back against the wall in a place where she can keep an eye on the door, even though it makes her feel like the number one suspect in a police thriller.

Its early evening but already the night has drawn in. The cafe is lit by a few spotlights that cast thin crescents of light on the roughly plastered walls. Iben scans one of the entertainment magazines that she used to read a few years ago. She tries to remember what Malene said as they cycled home together after the evening at Sophies.

Was it As long as youre not taking Gunnar away from me?

No, thats not quite right. Maybe she said You and Gunnar would probably get on better than I do with him. I could get worried about that. What exactly did she say?

Malenes words have faded completely from Ibens mind.

When Iben has skimmed through the last magazine and read everything she wants to read from the small collection of daily papers, she leaves the cafe in a bad mood. A cold wind is scouring the pavement. It has jammed a plastic bag in between the front-wheel spokes of her bicycle. What Malene says she feels about life comes to Ibens mind as she rummages in her pocket for the bicycle key. Malene sees herself as an outsider, isolated from the common experience that she supposes healthy people must share.

But Malene has someone to love, regardless of his being away on business so much. And not only does Malene have someone, she also knows that if her relationship with Rasmus were to break up, shes both pretty and smart enough to catch any one of twenty other interesting and interested men. Gunnar, for instance.

Im the one whos the true outsider, Iben thinks. Im the one who has lived alone for the last three years. I dont have anyone chasing me. And when I do finally meet someone, h.e.l.l probably be older and already married. Im the one still waiting for my real life to begin.

What if Malene had said You mustnt take Gunnar away from me? But no, she wouldnt have said that, no matter how much her feet were hurting her that evening.

Iben puts reflective straps around the hems of her trousers and then, with chilly fingers, pulls the lamps from her bag and fixes them on the back and front of the bike. The front light works, but the rear one is broken. Still, if the police spot it, its easier to talk yourself out of a fine if the light is at least in place.

She has barely sat down on the seat when she gives a sudden start and her heart leaps in her chest. Gunnar has emerged from Broadcasting House and is walking toward the cafe. He is alone. He is wearing a black leather jacket and his shoulders are hunched against the cold.

She gets off her bicycle and goes to meet him. As soon as he sees her, he pulls his shoulders back and straightens up. Already she feels happy.

Iben! Good to see you! Why dont you come and have a gla.s.s of wine with me? That place I told you about, the Metro Bar, is just across the road.

The sticky tape that shes used to fasten the knife to her leg has caught a hair. It p.r.i.c.kles sharply with every step she takes.

They sit at the same table she sat at earlier. After nearly two hours of drinking wine on an empty stomach, Iben is feeling giggly, but at the same time calmer than before they met. She looks at Gunnars hands. They are large and shapely. The wine is really getting to her. Perhaps evenings like this are the reason Malene persists in meeting this man even though Rasmus objects?

Gunnar tops up Ibens gla.s.s. Ive met so many people whove turned into madmen, killing friends and family and complete strangers. Hacking them to death with hoes or spades or whatever else was at hand, apparently without thinking twice. But we shouldnt forget that people, possibly the very same people, are also capable of incredible and inexplicable goodness. Ive come across that as well. Villagers who have hidden and protected strangers whove emerged out of the jungle, risking their lives for someone they had no reason to help.

When Gunnar speaks, his words flow in unusually long and coherent thoughts. Iben relaxes. She speaks the same way the very rhythms of their speech mesh.

Its true. But when the stranger appears after hiding in the jungle, what determines whether he is saved or left to his own devices and an almost certain death? Or whether hes killed or not? Is it just impulse? A reaction that no one can trace to its source?

The cafe is invaded by a small but noisy group of cla.s.sical musicians, fresh from a Broadcasting House orchestra rehearsal. They pick the table next to Gunnar and Ibens and make a racket by trying to park their instrument cases nearby.

Iben continues: I once watched this TV doc.u.mentary about lions. Immediately after the kill it was an antelope, I think they fought over the flesh. They really went at each other and could easily have caused serious wounds. But afterward they all slept so peacefully, heads resting on each others bellies. It didnt take long for all their distrust and aggression to vanish. And naturally they werent haranguing each other about evil or treachery.

Should she stop talking? She glances at Gunnar, who seems to be listening attentively. She takes a sip of wine and decides to go on.

That night a flock of hyenas attacked the lions. During the fight several of the lions behaved as if they were deliberately putting their lives on the line in order to protect their mates. And yet these were the very same animals that had been fighting tooth and nail earlier in the day.

I keep feeling that its easy to trace the causes of change, from caring to killing and back again, among animals of the same species. If theres a food shortage or an acute need to reproduce, theyre prepared to fight to the death. But when that sort of thing is not an issue, they are loving toward each other, like trusting members of a close family. The change is quick as a flash and relatively uncomplicated. They simply leave the past behind them.

Young men have smooth faces, but when Gunnar smiles slight laughter lines form on either side of his mouth. Not many people construe mankind in terms of lions.

Iben touches the edge of her sleeve. But then, in some ways were not like animals. I mean, for people it isnt solely the desire for food or s.e.x that triggers the kind of actions we regard as evil. Its much more complex than that, although it looks simple: press one b.u.t.ton and we will fight, maybe kill, press another and we behave like decent human beings. We dont know what these b.u.t.tons are, or whos pressing them. We dont even know what instinct it is that drives us.

One of Gunnars hands rests near the center of the tabletop.

And thats what your work at DCIG is about, isnt it? I mean, research into push-b.u.t.tons?

Thats the idea, though Ive never heard it described like that. Still, something triggers the impulse to kill in one segment of society, and they begin to murder another. What is the trigger? And what triggers goodness? If only we could learn to understand the mechanisms, then it should be possible to intervene at an early stage and stop the whole process from developing.

And when that happens the Center will be awarded the n.o.bel Prize for Peace, Medicine, and Literature all at the same time.

They both laugh.

The noise from the table next to theirs has stopped. One of the musicians has taken her cello from its case and, in the sudden stillness, moves the bow across the strings. One single note rings out, deep and lasting. Doesnt it sound a little like the wail of an animal? Iben thinks. Maybe the cry of a lion cub. But then again, it doesnt. The note is too pure, too cultured.

When the sound has died away the talking starts up again at the musicians table. The cellist was obviously using her instrument to ill.u.s.trate a point. Now she lovingly puts it away again.

Under the table Gunnars leg touches Ibens. She is scared that he will notice the knife and think that shes paranoid, so she pulls her leg away.

Gunnar breaks the silence. I cant remember when I was last with someone who made talking together feel so natural.

Does he say this kind of thing to Malene too? Suddenly Iben recalls the acute attacks of illness that force Malene to go to the rheumatological clinic. Her memory flashes up an image of Malenes face distorted with pain.

The big, low candle on their table gutters as a new group of people arrives.

Iben looks at Gunnar. He is somehow too large compared to the flimsy cafe chair. She can see a trace of tension in his face.

Iben, if you would like to drop in at my place, anytime, you would be very welcome.

The following morning Iben and Malene are in Pauls office, standing together while he swivels irritably back and forth on his chic executive chair. He has seemed annoyed right from the very start of the meeting. Iben was feeling ill at ease even before they went in to see him. Part of the reason is Malenes and her agreement that Iben should present the facts of the situation.

Iben speaks briefly. All in all, we feel that it would be good for Anne-Lise to take some sick leave. She needs to recover away from the Center. She isnt herself at the moment.

Pauls next swirl on his chair is especially vigorous.

No way.

Neither Iben nor Malene can think of anything to do or say for a moment.

Why ? Malene finally asks.

Paul stares at them. She isnt sick. Simple as that.

Both Iben and Malene squirm at the thought of having to present an a.n.a.lysis of Anne-Lises mental state without any proper evidence.

Lets do some straight talking, Paul says. To force sick leave on an employee is something you only do when youre desperate for a chance to fire them. It means that the problem is off your desk for a while and hopefully it will go away on its own. It never does, though.