Iben walks with long, swift steps, aware of the ease with which she can move. Dear God, thank you, she thinks, and then feels ashamed.
But she has nothing to be ashamed of. After all, she is doing everything she can to help Malene. She has no reason whatever to feel bad.
And, she thinks, she was also being helpful to Anne-Lise.
The air is chilly and still damp after the night’s rain. A handful of people are wandering around between the parked cars, smoking or talking into their mobile phones. Iben phones Nisa at the Danish Institute for International Studies to ask for current statistics on the ongoing genocide of Amazonian Indians. Nisa asks her how things are going at DCGI.
Iben has a shrewd idea of what she’s angling at. ‘Good. We’re just preparing the Chechnya issue.’
Sure enough, Nisa soon gets to the point. ‘Somebody told me you’re having problems with Anne-Lise?’
Iben has to smile at how quickly gossip spreads. She’s glad that she and Malene have managed to defend themselves, but knows she must be discreet. ‘Really? Who told you that?’
‘Just something Erling said.’
That’s all right. Erling sits on the same research committee as Ole Henningsen. It wouldn’t be bad if the information filtered through that way.
‘Erling? What did he tell you?’
‘He told me that Anne-Lise has an alcohol problem.’
‘Nisa, I’m not sure. But now that you say it … well, it would explain a lot.’
Nisa tries to find out more, but Iben’s brief responses demonstrate that at DCGI they intend to keep Anne-Lise’s problems internal.
After the Louisiana conference, a week and a half ago, Iben and Malene had got together in Malene’s flat to plan a self-defence strategy. If Anne-Lise keeps criticising them behind their backs, they could end up being sacked, and then they’d never be able to get a job in Human Rights again. With all the changes going on at the moment, they knew they didn’t have much time. They needed to establish that Anne-Lise’s perceptions of her colleagues were grossly distorted. Iben then swung into action. The following day she called Lea to ‘chat about the conference’. She mentioned how she and Malene viewed recent events in the DCGI office. This was when Lea, who had once had to share an office with an alcoholic, asked if Anne-Lise drank too much.
Iben hadn’t given this a moment’s thought before, but now things suddenly fell into place. So much would make perfect sense if Anne-Lise were hitting the bottle because of problems at home.
Lea must have passed the story on, because there were other vague enquiries from contacts at the university. Iben and Malene both realised that to hint at their misgivings about Anne-Lise’s possible alcohol problem was the wisest way to make people realise what a difficult and unstable person she was to work with. Throughout this whole unpleasant business, Iben has urged that they should not aim to harm Anne-Lise more than they absolutely have to. It is important to her that she behaves as a ‘good’ person would, given the circumstances. So Iben has tried to stick to this approach in spite of Anne-Lise ingratiating herself with Lea, Brigitte and others in the network; and despite the way Anne-Lise seems unaffected by the unpleasant atmosphere in the office that weighs so heavily on Iben and Malene. Anne-Lise seems prepared to fight on for ever, as if she’s in her element on the field of battle.
When Iben returns to the rheumatology clinic, Malene is still waiting to see the doctor. Her eyes are fixed on the wall in front of her, and her breathing is shallow and troubled. She keeps her arms tight in to her body.
The needle that the doctor will soon use is a massive affair, a small tube with a sharply pointed tip, designed to allow viscous fluid to flow in. Iben knows that she should go into the examination room with Malene and hold her hand during the procedure.
She begins to tell Malene about the phone call, but soon gives up: Malene is too distracted to respond. They sit there for almost another hour before the doctor calls Malene. He is new to both of them, but comes across as trustworthy. His neatly trimmed white beard and relaxed movements remind Iben of Ole, only younger and some ten kilograms lighter.
Iben and the doctor help Malene onto the couch. He palpates her knee to assess the extent of the swelling. The pressure inside the joint is so great that a bulge, distended with fluid, has pushed its way between two muscle tendons at the back of her knee. He seems puzzled.
‘And you tell me everything was fine last night?’
‘Yes.’
He slides his hand along her leg below the knee. ‘I see. Well, it’s most unusual for the swelling to reach this state so quickly.’
‘I know. It’s never been like this before.’
‘What did you do yesterday? Any sudden or odd movements?’
Iben watches the many little twitches of pain that come and go on Malene’s face. She wishes she could do something to help her.
Malene tries to sound pleasant, but her voice is dry and squeaky. ‘Well, I did.’
The doctor focuses his entire attention on her knee.
Malene tries to explain. ‘I ran around. Moved faster than I normally do. But I felt fine at the time.’
At last he looks up, gazing at her calmly. ‘You certainly managed to damage your knee.’
Even though he is addressing Malene, he looks across to Iben, almost as if he thought she were her friend’s partner.
‘What you must always keep in mind is that your joints are no longer what they once were. The bone surfaces are both softer and rougher and that’s why it’s easier to injure them. Also, because the bone is more exposed, it’s more prone to cracking. Fragments can come off inside the joint. Your pain may well be due to one of these small local fractures. Which means that I’ll have to send you off to X-ray before I aspirate the joint.’
‘But … how long will that take?’
‘I’ll phone them right away and find out when they can see you. Schedules are tight here, but let’s hope they’ll be able to fit you in.’
He has already lifted the receiver when Malene bursts into tears. ‘Can’t you drain my knee now? Just a little?’
‘I’m afraid not. It could cause damage.’
‘Please, can’t you do something? Take some out. Just a little.’
From where she lies on the couch her head is turned towards the doctor. He leans forward across the desk. ‘When I tell you I can’t, it’s not because I want to make you miserable, but because I’m doing what’s best for you — for your knee.’
He arranges with the X-ray receptionist that, if all goes well, Malene will be seen in about an hour’s time.
‘I’ll phone the porters. They’ll send someone to take you across.’
Tears are streaming down Malene’s face, but she makes no sound.
Iben’s voice is shrill. ‘Can’t you give her something for the pain? It can’t be right to leave her in this state!’
‘Of course. Tell me, Malene, what have you taken so far?’
When he hears the quantities of painkillers that Malene has swallowed this morning, he says it is essential that she wait before taking any more. He promises that, by the time she’s allowed any more medication, he will already have drained her knee joint.
As Iben helps Malene out of the room, the doctor assures them that he’ll contact the X-ray department again and try to get Malene in earlier. A porter has come along with a wheelchair, and pushes her along the dilapidated corridors. Iben accompanies them, carrying their coats.
Then they wait. Again. The X-ray waiting area is a long, narrow passage where patients, attached to their drips, sleep in their beds. It’s hard to think of anything to chat about. Iben feels it’s not right to rattle on about any old things, but there’s not much else to say. It hurts and that’s it.