Part 11 (2/2)

Camilla follows her lead. So do I.

One of Malenes 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 Center will think that somehow Ive failed to cope. Its the only conclusion they could possibly draw.

Paul takes the initiative. Malene, n.o.body is in any doubt that youre good at your job. Of course youre able to handle library queries perfectly well. Truly, youre a real a.s.set to the Center and we all value your work here. That was never an issue.

Anne-Lise says nothing.

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

Anne-Lise, leaving the door open to your place will certainly make a huge difference, dont 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 e-mails and who the sender might be? The others work away, trying to seem indifferent to what is going on behind Pauls door.

One of the windows on Malenes screen shows the arrival time for Rasmuss flight. She has already been to the airport site to check for delays, but its still too early.

Pauls door opens and Anne-Lise comes out first. Both she and Paul seem fine, which must mean that she hasnt admitted to sending the e-mails. 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, Ive decided that you keep all user contacts except for book queries. Anything about books goes straight to Anne-Lise.

Malene reaches the elevator just in time to get in with him. Paul has to raise his voice above the whining of the elevator. Anne-Lise feels there have been quite a few issues: airing out the copier room; lack of recognition for her work. Its 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 inquiringly. Malenes impulse is to slam the desktop hard with her fist, but she cant 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 such as So sorry, but Im not allowed to help you with books anymore because Paul has forbidden it? Or maybe a brisk Im not allowed to deal with these questions anymore?

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 elevator 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 cant 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 e-mail, a brief message: Meet you in the kitchen?

Malene nods. She puts down the article, Europes Forgotten Genocide, grabs her mug, and walks over to the coffee thermos. She gives it a little shake and pretends its empty, then heads toward the kitchen, ostensibly to refill it. In a while Iben joins her.

Its a tiny, rather shabby kitchen, but there is one quality item: a gleaming coffeemaker. Malene fills the thermos to the top might as well, now that shes here.

It wouldnt bother me so much if it werent Anne-Lise whos taking over. Ive put lots of energy and time into looking after the users.

I know, I know. It doesnt make any sense.

Sh.e.l.l ruin everything in just a couple of weeks. I cant bear it.

I understand, I really do The whole place will become so dull and dead! Humorless, just like Anne-Lise herself. I mean, just look at her. Sh.e.l.l be the one representing the Center to the outside world is that what we need? I dont think so!

Im sure Paul hasnt thought it through properly.

If Paul himself took over, the knowledge Ive built up would still be lost, but at least hed do it with style. But Anne-Lise! I ask you! Its 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 dont 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 favor. Id better start weeping crocodile tears as well. Christ! Just imagine the changes we could make.

chapter 13.

so far Malene has had only a single 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. Malenes 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, Malenes 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 pa.s.sed.

She knows that some arthritic patients define their ident.i.ty 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 at 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, s.h.i.+ft her weight to her feet, and then push herself upright. In the office everyone has a chair with wheels, but in her apartment the wheeled chair at the dining table looks a little out of place. Usually no one remarks on it, though.

Malenes kitchen knives have upright handles that she can grip like a saw, so she wont have to bend her wrist when using them, and she owns a selection of kitchen implements with thick, soft handles that make them easier to hold. With a little goodwill the chubby, colorful shapes could be taken for smart designer ware. Some guests have actually asked where she bought them, because theyd 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 convince yourself: Im doing really well. Ive hardly felt a twinge for the last five weeks. Maybe its 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 orthopedic shoe maker. And then, always, your hopes are crushed. It seems so arbitrary that you cant 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.

When the attack begins it brings not only the crippling pain but also psychological malaise and disappointment. So, three weeks on a no-sugar diet had no effect, and neither did avoiding stress. It didnt 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 doesnt 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 traveled alone in Africa and Latin America and Asia. Some people advise her to give up, to stop fantasizing about better days. But shes not like that she cant simply resign herself to this. She needs to beat the system. But with every new setback she succ.u.mbs to a bitter rage at having it rammed down her throat that she is not in control of her own body.

Rasmuss 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 oclock. After he has stayed in 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 thats light and easy, something they can enjoy in the bedroom. She decides to serve prosciutto, olives, organic tomatoes with olive oil, goat cheese, and slow-risen spelt bread from Emmerys. Rasmus loves good bread and happily eats slice after slice with just b.u.t.ter and salt on top.

To make up for the simple menu, she puts effort into the drinks, recreating the blends of fresh-squeezed fruit juices that they both loved on their holiday in Vietnam. She has bought four kinds of fruit: lime, orange, peach, and melon. Theyll mix the juice with the golden tequila from another of Rasmuss trips. As an extra, she has also got the coming months Cinematek program the film house is showing a John Ca.s.savetes retrospective. Malene hasnt mentioned this when theyve spoken on the phone. She wants it to be a surprise.

The moment Rasmus steps in through the door, one look is enough to tell her. Its not food and drink that hes been missing. He realizes that she is in no mood for foreplay on the hall floor and instead they go straight to the bedroom.

She lies with her head on his chest, sniffing his scent. The hotels unfamiliar shower gel adds a new note.

He is truly fired up tonight. It seems easy to keep her mind off DCIG, and for a while her body tells her that she is succeeding. But then she finds herself looking at a cupboard door that hasnt closed properly. It juts out from the wall at the same angle as that of the open window. And from the bed its difficult to make out the image on Rasmuss film poster by the door. It looks like a dark rectangle with patches of reflected light from the lamp in the ceiling.

She tries to concentrate on what they are doing, but its a challenge.

Rasmus, no, Im not with you. Lets wait awhile.

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