It is cringingly awful. Why, Malene asks herself, do I know so little about this woman? Especially since I imagined that we share so much. I mustve been chatting away on the phone without asking the right questions, without listening properly.

Charlotte snickers when she admits that she can take time off work without any questions being asked. Like today. Meanwhile, Malene has taken in other little things about this room that looks as if it is shared by a young woman and her grandmother. Woolen joint bandages lie neatly rolled up within reach, as does a collection of pop CDs. Charlotte is a couple years younger than Malene, but she has suffered from arthritis for eight years compared with Malenes six.

Still speaking as vivaciously as ever, Charlotte is describing AYAPs social calendar the parties and seminars. The membership has such a great time together on their weekend jaunts, when they make their aching bodies play about in hotel gardens during light summer nights. Then she asks about Rasmus and Malene wonders how much she should tell.

At this point Charlotte speaks in a flatter tone, clearly self-conscious about not having a boyfriend. They have talked about it on the phone, but Malene has always a.s.sumed that its just a matter of time before Charlotte finds someone. It cant be more serious than that. Now, watching her, Malene can see how ill she is. Maybe Charlotte will never find anyone.

Malene realizes that she has just come out with some tired old cliche to the effect that there is a Mr. or Miss Right for everyone.

Charlotte puts on a happy face and straightens up. Thats true, I know. And while Im on the lookout, I wont waste my time complaining. She dunks a cake delicately in her coffee.

Thoughts fly into Malenes head. How do they manage, the ones who are seriously disabled? How do they endure it all without jumping off a bridge? Charlotte will never get a man and she knows it. Sh.e.l.l never escape this social housing h.e.l.lhole. And how would I cope? I could never be so happy with so little.

Charlotte in the flesh is no different from the person who wrote the e-mails. Its just that finding her here, among her cushions and special aids, changes Malenes perception of her. For Malene, this realization is all the harder to take because of the worsening situation between her and Rasmus. As they put it in Seinfeld: Breaking up is like knocking over a c.o.ke machine. You cant do it in one push; youve got to rock it back and forth a few times. Malene has noticed that Rasmus is definitely rocking.

Soon it will be my turn, she thinks. I will smile mechanically as I tell people that Rasmus and I arent together anymore. Never mind, Ill say, there are so many fun things to do when youre single.

She gets up, excuses herself, and goes to the bathroom. Inside, she weeps noiselessly among all the special bath aids and handles that Charlotte requires in order to be able to wash on her own. Or does someone come in to help her? Will Malenes own bathroom look like this in a few years?

Malene takes her time. She pinches some of Charlottes foundation to pat into the skin under her eyes. Better that than have to explain to Charlotte that just being with her makes Malene want to cry.

She takes a few deep breaths and opens the door. Baffled, she recognizes the smell even before she sees Charlotte. This sweetish, resinous scent is just about the last thing she expected. Charlotte is sitting in her big armchair, puffing vigorously on a large joint.

Oh good, there you are. I was worried. Thought I might have to blow some smoke under the door to tempt you to come out.

Malene has listened to other arthritic people speaking about the advantages of smoking hash. Drinking wine often causes stiffening and pain, and can react unpredictably with medicines. She sits back in the soft armchair and starts to munch on a little chocolate-dipped cake. Might be just as well to leap into the world of the disabled here and now, she thinks.

Charlotte hands her the joint. The longer you hold the smoke in your lungs, the more you get out of it. Dont even think of coughing!

Thanks. Lots of my friends used to smoke. Ive tried it too. Trouble was, it had no effect on me.

Malene inhales heartily. That should be enough to get me stoned, she thinks.

But, as before, smoking pot seems to do nothing for her. They light another joint a little later and she tries again. Still nothing, except for the sweating, and thats mostly due to the overheated room.

It isnt until she stands up to leave that she finally notices her head feels distinctly strange.

They embrace.

Lovely to meet you at last!

Yes, it really was. Ill e-mail you from the office tomorrow.

Maybe Ill mail you sooner. While youre on the train back home.

One more hug.

There isnt much waiting for her in Copenhagen: when a friend has been as supportive as Iben, you cant reasonably expect more, like her remembering to e-mail you from Nairobi. Not even if youve written to tell her that you are worried about your relationship with the man in your life.

Malenes hands and feet are tingling. Any moment now she might tip over into the unknown. Collapse in unstoppable laughter, perhaps.

If I hadnt gone out of my way to fix Iben up in that job, it wouldve been me who went to Africa. And then I would have had all the exciting new experiences and made all those international contacts.

Malene is crying in the restroom on the train. The cannabis has. .h.i.t home and the air is bubbling up against her face. The dingy white plastic surfaces seem to float upward, the filthy gray floor too, followed by metal handles, and then signs, smells, sounds. Everything is rushing up, up, even faster, past the electrical cables. Or perhaps its the other way around. Inside the rumbling of the train, Malene is falling.

chapter 5.

on the Monday after Sophies party, Malene is at her desk in the office, working on the text for three posters that will feature stories about Danish people helping Jews to escape during the Second World War. The subtext is that people should have the courage to confront any persecution of a minority, but the fact that thousands of Danes risked their lives and saved more than ninety percent of Denmarks Jews gives yet another dimension to Malenes project.

Gunnar once expounded on the subject while he and Malene nibbled olives, waiting for a menu.

The ma.s.s rescue of Jews strengthened the sense of national self-satisfaction. All nation-states hang on to beliefs like This country of ours is special and Were the decent ones. The Danes simply indulge in this kind of thing more than most and they feel justified. History tells us that were without evil, and so without guilt.

Malene doesnt want her exhibition to bolster this national lack of insight. And, as usual, Iben is full of suggestions. Malene considers countering with Gunnars quote but decides against it.

She leans forward in her ergonomic chair, bought to alleviate the pain from her arthritis, and tries to concentrate on what she is writing. Bispebjerg Hospital had registered two hundred Jews as patients under false, non-Jewish names when the Germans surrounded the hospital She knows perfectly well that she mustnt allow herself to fret about Iben and Gunnar.

Iben is actually in top form today. Normally Malene is glad to have her back in the office the atmosphere was much duller while she was away in Kenya. At first Malene had worried about her brainy friend coming to work at the Center. For one thing, with only five colleagues, it could have been slightly claustrophobic. Also, supporting Ibens job application could have ruined the friendship Malene had come to depend on so much.

The first things she had noticed about Iben when they met were her clear blue eyes and the sharp little crease between her eyebrows. In those days Ibens skin was paler and her manner more earnest. Still, it was easy to make her laugh, dissolving into the bubbling loud giggle that made her look so charming. Afterward she would compose herself quickly, ready to debate any issue seriously.

But Iben is also a perfectionist. Everything has to be well thought out, executed to perfection, one hundred percent. Anything less seems worthless to her. Apparently Iben needed therapy for panic attacks after her fathers death. Malene didnt know her then, but its always been obvious to her that Iben is fragile.

Probably no one but Malene knows that Iben cant stand having her head and body under water at the same time. Iben keeps her head dry when washing her body and remains fully dressed when she washes her hair. That has to be a symptom of something or other.

They were all astonished to learn how Iben behaved during the hostage business. She would have wanted to do the right thing of course, but to act so dramatically well, that was unexpected. She said herself that she had been someone else in Kenya. Thats why Frederik called her Batgirl. He must have thought it was flattering to suggest that she had a secret ident.i.ty. But he had enough sensitivity to see how much Iben detested the idea and stopped his joking at once.

Two years ago, for all her doubts, Malene had felt she had to support Iben for the DCIG post. All the students of literature had hoped to land jobs as editors or book reviewers or journalists writing on the arts. Instead, and regardless of how brilliant they were, they received at best low-paid freelance commissions, supporting themselves with unemployment benefits. Decent public jobs were few and far between. As Iben scouted around, her lack of office experience turned out to be a major drawback. She would come back from the employment offices with gruesome tales of graduates who had been in the system for years. They were game for anything, but would-be employers labeled them overqualified.

You can spot them at once. Ten seconds is enough. These guys are broken, and no sensible boss would dream of employing them. And they know it too.

When the post as DCIG information officer was advertised, Iben didnt go for it. She didnt even mention it. Instead she applied for every other job with a whiff of desperation.

Malene knew the risks when she phoned Iben and urged her to apply. When we receive your application, Ill tell everyone how talented you are and what a hard worker you are. And Ill tell them how much I look forward to the pleasure of working with you.

Come on, they wont consider your best friend.

I wont tell them that. Ill say that we were students together and that I got to know you when we lived in the same dorm. And that I remember you were fantastically efficient and reliable. Thats only the truth.

Were not letting on that were close friends, then?

Well, no not close friends. But friendly.

I still wont get the job. Ill be up against thousands of more experienced people.

Ill brief you on exactly what you should say to the different board members in the final interview. Thatll help.

Silence.

Iben! Its a job. Its the job of your dreams!

By lunchtime Paul still hasnt come back. Iben, Malene, Camilla, and Anne-Lise lunch together on a fresh rye loaf from the baker, two different cheeses, and low-fat liver pate Camillas special. No different from so many other days.

Camilla is slightly overweight, but not so plump that she needs to wear the long, floppy tops she likes to hide beneath. Both she and Anne-Lise are hovering around forty years of age. It makes them older than Iben and Malene by only ten years or so, but there is a marked generation gap. Camilla and Anne-Lise seldom stay in town to go out. They live quietly in the suburbs with their respective husbands and children. Things like new films or music hardly matter to them.

Camilla is talking about how much shes saving by going to the dentist in Sweden. And if you take into account that Finn is going there too, we saved more than three thousand kroner last year. Camilla has developed her telephone voice over many years of secretarial work, and everyone comments on its cheerfulness, unexpected in an office dedicated to human tragedy. Still, optimism is important if the routine work of the Center is to be endured.

They talk for a while about a particular journalist from an evening paper who interviewed Iben about her time as a hostage.

Then Camilla is off again about the family trips to Sweden. You see, once weve had our teeth fixed in Malmo, we go for a drive. Sometimes we simply pack a picnic and pile the kids into the car. Last time, we went to the Dinosaur Park. Its such fun She glances at Malene and hesitates. At least, anyway if youre there with children.

Malene gets up. Now wed better be good.

This signals that the lunch break is over. They pour themselves fresh mugs of coffee and go back to their desks.

Later that afternoon Camilla finds some new Internet clips from Chris and the Chocolate Factory. They laugh so hard that Anne-Lise comes out from the library to join them.

Malene has sensed tension between herself and Iben all day. Iben probably thinks that she will try to prevent her from seeing more of Gunnar. Malene decides to amuse them with a few impersonations.

You know, I think having fun together now and then is really important. It unites people. She turns to Camilla, her voice still full of laughter. Imagine if someone sponsored a kind of reconciliation project where stand-up comics went to entertain mixed groups of Serbs and Bosnians, just so they could experience laughing together.

Anne-Lise stands over by the library door and turns to Malene. There are twelve million Serbs and four million Bosnians.

Malene wants to be nice to her and smiles. Oh, it was just a thought. A bit of fun. I didnt mean it literally.

That evening Malene finds an e-mail waiting for her on her home computer: YOU, MALENE JENSEN, HAVE SWORN TO YOUR SECRET EVIL, AS LEADER AND CHANCELLOR OF YOUR REICH, LOYALTY AND BRAVERY. YOU HAVE PLEDGED TO EVIL AND THE SUPERIORS APPOINTED BY EVIL, OBEDIENCE UNTO DEATH.* SO HELP YOU G.o.d.

*DEATH, WHICH I WILL BRING YOU VERY SOON.

Nothing happens when she double-clicks on the senders address, which is

She recognizes many of the words from the oath of allegiance sworn by SS officers to Hitler, but changed so that Hitler is replaced by your secret evil and so on. She walks over to a window facing the street, looks out, and then closes the curtains.

After getting a piece of chocolate, she phones Rasmus in Cologne, but he must be in a meeting or something because his cell phone is switched off.

Instead she calls Iben. It turns out that Iben has had a threatening e-mail too and has completely freaked out. She ran out without a jacket and is somewhere on Nrrebro Street.

Malene thinks Ibens reaction is over the top, even given their place of work. It was just an e-mail, after all. She tries to empathize and calm Iben down at the same time. However, she finds herself listening for sounds in her own apartment, though she cant take herself seriously.

Going out into the cold night doesnt make her happy. She has just started the washing machine and the apartment is a mess. Still, she agrees to meet Iben at Props. Afterward she intends to sleep in her own bed; Iben can stay where she likes.

Before leaving, Malene phones Paul. He is giving a lecture out of town, but luckily she gets hold of him during a coffee break.

He seems untroubled by her news. Its the kind of thing you expect if youre involved in anything political. You just have to learn to put up with it. Of course, well look into these threats, but on the other hand, dont let them scare you.

Malene doesnt feel scared. So youve had e-mails like this too?

Yes.

People threatening to kill you?

Thats right.

Are they sent by war criminals, do you think?

No, I dont. Its mostly right-wing idiots who write to me neo-n.a.z.is and what have you. Everyone in our kind of job gets threatened sooner or later. All you can do is ignore it.

Malene is breaking off small pieces of her chocolate bar but isnt eating any of them. Ive just talked to Iben about it. You know, about how seriously we should take the threats.

Its unpleasant, I know. Is Rasmus at home now?

No, hes in Cologne. At a trade fair.

Thats not so good.

Malene doesnt answer. She can hear the voices of Pauls audience in the background.

Props is nearly empty. Its too early in the evening. A couple of years ago, Malene and Iben started going to Props, where most of the regulars are men, often creative types with slightly haggard faces. Many have made a pa.s.s at Malene across the cafe tables, which look like relics from a 1960s summer house.

Iben waves Malene over.

Even before Malene has a chance to sit down, Iben starts speaking urgently, as quickly and matter-of-factly as if she were at work. Her voice cuts through the low Steely Dan number thats playing in the background.

Listen, Ive rung Camilla and Anne-Lise. Camilla hasnt received one of the e-mails but Anne-Lise wasnt in. And I phoned Lotta and Henk from the Swedish and Dutch genocide centers. Neither of them has had e-mails like the ones we received, and they dont know of anyone who has. She smiles a little, holding a warm cup of coffee with both hands. Then I contacted Anders and Karen at Human Rights and Svend at International Studies. And Paul I called Paul too.

I know. He told me. After you called, he phoned his wife and asked her to check. He hasnt got e-mails like ours. It looks like you and I are the only ones.

Malene had wanted to hug Iben because shed been so scared, but the stream of words gets in the way. Instead she hands over a sweater she has brought and goes to order another coffee for Iben and a gla.s.s of white wine for herself. The two of them agree that Paul would be the likeliest target for a war criminals threats. Paul is constantly in the media spotlight and signs most of the Centers public statements regardless of who drafted them. So why hasnt he, or someone else prominent in the human rights sector, received the menacing messages?

They try to think of a war criminal they have exposed on the Web, one Paul hasnt mentioned publicly, but no one seems to fit the description.

At a corner table two men in soccer jerseys start arguing loudly. Iben holds her line of thought, and blinks, turning to scan the darkness outside the large window that looks onto Blgrd Street. Malene cant help following Ibens gaze, but there is nothing to see. Iben is definitely not herself.

Wearing Malenes coffee-colored sweater, Iben leans forward. What she says gives little away about how she feels. You must watch her eyes and mouth instead.

Here we are, good people with university degrees. Day after day, were off to our jobs at the Center or the Inst.i.tute for Human Rights or Amnesty International or Doctors Without Borders. We discuss the news during our lunch breaks and water plants and put up posters for UN special days. And we dont realize that at any moment we might have to fight torturers or executioners or militia bosses. Because, although we never think about it, were soldiers at war.

Small muscles twitch around Ibens mouth, indicating, as Malene knows, that what she is saying is paramount.

Malene feels a surge of warmth toward her friend and proposes a toast: To us. Women at War.

Iben responds eagerly, as if Malene has just uttered the phrase she had been searching for. Yes, thats who we are! Women at War. Weve never realized it until now. None of us ever thought about herself that way Iben has said it so loud that the two men in soccer jerseys turn around to look.