“‘But I can switch on the light, if you want me to,’ he said, and before I had time to reply he flicked the switch. He explained it was a special light that filtered out all the red beams. You can’t read in it, but you can find your way around. He asked me if it was all right or whether I would rather sit in the kitchen.
“The living room now looked as if it was lit by twilight. The walls were covered with tanks from floor to ceiling.
“‘Spiders?’ I whispered.
“It turned out that he had seventy-two spiders, of which thirty-four were lethal, thirty-nine scorpions, all lethal, four venomous snakes, as well as cockroaches, mice, and crickets for food. He explained it all very cheerfully. Along the wall to the left were more bundles. Books, binders, science journals, and CDs would be my guess.
“I asked him why he kept his possessions like this, and he replied it was nature’s way of storing her possessions. Eggs and food, always packed in clusters, piles, and heaps. He was merely emulating nature.
“He told me it was just an experiment and it was just for fun, but he hesitated.” Professor Moritzen stopped and stared at Søren.
“I don’t really know why I’m telling you all this.”
Søren cleared his throat.
“Please go on. It’s important.” Søren gazed straight at Professor Moritzen who briefly looked as if she had lost the thread.
“I don’t know… I left…” she shuddered. “And I was sad… but also angry with myself. It’s not like I had found child porn or funding. I wondered what was troubling him, but I didn’t know him very well anymore. I concluded his usual invincibility had vanished or was weakened, and I spotted an opportunity to stick the knife in.” Professor Moritzen looked straight at Søren. “After the meeting I caught up with him. I told him I had decided it was time to tell Asger the truth. He replied he had no idea what I was talking about.
“Two days later I was officially informed that more than three quarters of the grant had been awarded to my department, specifically to two of my projects. I arrived at my office to find champagne corks popping. My younger colleague, who had attended the meeting with me, beamed and said that whatever I had said to Helland, it had worked. And he congratulated me. He hugged me. I was speechless, and for five naive minutes exactly I thought we had been given the money on merit. Then I understood. Helland had bought my silence.
“In the weeks that followed, I was torn. Morale in the department was sky-high, and we held one ambitious strategy meeting after another. We could afford a new electron microscope, we could invite three postgraduates on a planned trip to our overseas projects, and we could afford to participate in two upcoming symposia in Asia and America. The atmosphere was euphoric. I saw Helland several times, but still he never once looked through my window, even though I’m certain he knew I was in my office. I also saw Asger several times. He was radiant, having been offered a fellowship at the department. I had never seen him so happy. It was more food for thought. Should I let Helland get away with buying my silence?
“I made up my mind one afternoon when I saw Asger with Erik Tybjerg. They walked right past my window, laughing out loud at something, so Asger completely forgot to wave. The next day, I informed Helland that his blatant bribe had been accepted on one condition. He would put himself forward for the next election to the Faculty Council, and when he was voted in he was to make sure my department would never be short of funds again. I tried to gauge how badly he wanted Asger to remain a secret. It was clearly of the utmost importance, because he consented. Asger remained fatherless, I became a blackmailer, and Professor Helland kept his job. I lost no sleep over this. Our parasite research saved lives in the Third World, and my son was spared a father who didn’t want him. It went on for years.” Professor Moritzen blinked. “Lars was good at securing grants, exceptional, even. Once the grants were awarded, he got creative. The money was allocated across the system and when it reached individual budgets, it was disguised and moved along so that when it finally came to us, no one was keeping an eye on it anymore; no one asked questions.”
“So what happened?” Søren wanted to know.
“There was an election, and the new government had other plans,” Professor Moritzen said bitterly. “It slammed the money box shut and threw away the key. From now on, every unit within the institute had to submit a half-yearly report explaining how grants had been spent, along with research results. Every kroner had to be accounted for. The new government was highly mistrustful, and it soon became clear it cared nothing for our work unless it was profitable. There was a major management shuffle, and Professor Ravn was appointed as the new head of the institute. In consultation with the Faculty Council, he decided to close Coleoptera Taxonomy—”
“What’s that?”
“A small unit, specializing in beetle systematics. It had a staff of two: one was an older professor of taxonomy on the verge of retirement and the other was a young, upcoming invertebrate morphologist…” Professor Moritzen looked at Søren with tears in her eyes.
“Asger.”
She looked away.
“Asger had spent the summer in Borneo collecting samples and returned the day before the start of the new academic year. He was tanned, and I had never seen him looking so relaxed and contented. The institute claimed they had sent a letter and an e-mail, that they had tried hard to contact him, but whether it was Asger’s fault or they were lying, he showed up, unsuspecting, and found his department closed. There was a photocopier, still in its bubble wrap, waiting outside the door for Asger to clear out his things, so his office could be turned into a photocopying room. Not long after I said hello to him I saw him storm out. He had arrived with his buckets and specimen jars, wearing a too-warm jacket, smiling from ear to ear, his backpack tucked under his arm, and now I saw him head for the parking lot without his things and in a T-shirt. I worried and waited for him to come back. After half an hour, I knew something was wrong. I called Asger’s former colleague, but calls to that line were forwarded to his secretary. She gave me his home number. When I called him, my hands were shaking. Afterward I called Lars. It was a very unpleasant conversation. ‘There was nothing I could do,’ he said, over and over. ‘It was the smallest unit at the institute. There was nothing I could do.’ I wanted to kill him, even if he was telling me the truth. Lars assured me he had done everything he could, but he had been the only one to vote against it. ‘Did I know what a majority vote meant, had I heard about democracy?’ The department was closed immediately. The older professor retired, and Asger was… let go.” Professor Moritzen looked out of the window, at the building across the road. It had grown dark.
“Obviously I went straight to Asger’s. He didn’t open the door. I called out through the mail slot. I should have known it all along. His joy, his optimism, Borneo, his glowing skin, which almost made him look normal. It was an illusion. Underneath it Asger was what he always had been: a misfit. Someone who couldn’t cope with the world, and it was all my fault. I had worked too much, and he didn’t have a father. In the end, I called a locksmith and broke in. Asger lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. I sat beside him, stroking his arm.” Professor Moritzen looked at Søren.
“I promised him it would be all right. I said I would make sure he didn’t become unemployed. Thanks to Helland, my department had enough money, and I hired Asger as an assistant in the Department of Parasitology. I twisted Lars’s arm further—I told him to get a grant for Asger for two annual trips to southeast Asia to collect samples, and offer him three lectures a year in Lecture Hall A. To a full house. Or I would start talking.