The Exception Read online

  But do we still think this way today?

  An information gap

  Even though academic interest in the ethnic cleansing of Germans has increased a great deal during recent years – both inside and outside Germany – it can still be difficult to find precise and objective information. For instance, if one tries to look up the greatest shipping disaster in the world – the sinking of the Wilhelm Gustloff – there is no entry in the Danish National Encyclopedia, Encyclopaedia Britannica or the large German encyclopaedia Brockhaus.

  Web searches on the German words ‘Vertreibung’ (‘expulsion’) and ‘deutsche’ (‘German’) and on ‘1945’ produce many thousands of links, mostly to the large societies supporting German displaced persons. The objectivity of such societies is obviously questionable. A search on the corresponding English words results in a much more compact collection of links.

  However, many of these sites display distorted narratives of the history of the Second World War and especially of the Holocaust. Although they claim to provide neutral, academically valid research results, much is in fact written by those who deny the reality of the Holocaust. In many cases, Holocaust denial is a symptom of alignment with neo-Nazi organisations.

  DCGI arranges a conference about the German expulsion

  In other words, it is still difficult to find reliable information about this particular genocide and especially for those not professionally concerned with genocide research. Highly tendentious books and websites are mixed in with more valid sources.

  This is why DCGI will be holding a public conference about the expulsion. The conference will take place on the 15–17 May. The Centre hopes it will help support new research and detach the knowledge of this tragedy from the home pages created by those who aim to falsify history.

  Set these dates aside now. Further information about the programme and registration will be available in a later issue of Genocide News.

  14

  Frederik Thorsteinsson, the head of the Centre for Democracy, which promotes the use of democratic practices in East European countries, is also the deputy chairman of the DCGI board. Frederik is the only man on the board who is younger than Paul, which might have something to do with Paul’s dislike of him.

  Frederik’s main academic subject was history. His doctoral thesis, ‘The Origins of the Democratic Tradition in Denmark’, was completed at an unusually early age and was awarded Copenhagen University’s Gold Medal. After a stint at the Modern History Research Unit at Roskilde University, he landed the post at the Centre for Democracy and then the place on the DCGI board.

  It was not long before Frederik and Paul had their first skirmish. They disagreed about how to handle an information project in Republika Srpska, the Bosnian Serb republic. During the week of the worst infighting, the DCGI staff held their Christmas party in a chic lakeside restaurant. Late that evening, Paul, Malene and Iben ended up in a club in Nørrebro, full of stragglers from umpteen other Christmas dinners.

  In the middle of the noise and music Paul suddenly confided in Malene: ‘Malene, don’t you see that Frederik is only in it for himself? That’s why he’s always so fucking astute and politically correct. All he thinks about is his own career. I mean, can you point to one single ethical value he’d stick to if it wasn’t in his own interest?’

  The following Monday Paul asked Malene to have a word with him in his office. He tried to backtrack on what he had said, but didn’t make too good a job of it.

  ‘Malene, I’m not happy about what I said to you on Friday night. You know what I mean – about Frederik. I have no real reason to suspect him of bad faith and it was very poor form to pass my doubts on to you. I really regret it. So, could we let it stay between us?’

  She said, ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘I’m probably prejudiced,’ Paul went on. ‘To me, he looks just like an SS officer in one of those American war films from the sixties. That is, apart from his hairstyle.’

  Malene laughed. Actually, Paul’s description seemed rather apt: Frederik was easily six inches taller than all the other men on the board and was apparently very pleased with his blond hair, high cheekbones and small, straight nose.

  Women tend to like Frederik, who can be charming in spite of his upper-class mannerisms. Indeed Malene suspects he could have any one of the four women working in the Centre, but no one mentions this when Paul is within earshot. Malene herself has a great relationship with Frederik, with just the right amount of flirtation.

  Three weeks after the Christmas party, Paul was offered a seat on the board of the Centre for Democracy, and he accepted at once. In one way, even though he isn’t the deputy chairman, he is now senior to Frederik.

  On the Wednesday afternoon Frederik phones Malene. He is researching a book and needs to see proceedings from old Polish court cases.

  Of course Malene can arrange for him to have access to the documents, but by now Paul’s new rule is in force. She should refer Frederik and his library request to Anne-Lise. She looks quickly across the desk at Iben. Iben has obviously figured out who is on the other end of the line. They raise their eyebrows simultaneously.

  Malene pauses briefly and then says, pleasantly, that she will arrange to have the document boxes put in the Large Meeting Room.

  Afterwards Malene confesses to Iben. ‘Look, I simply couldn’t do it. Not today.’ She tries to smile. ‘Not when it was Frederik who asked me.’

  Iben says nothing, just reaches out for her mug of coffee.

  Malene catches on to what was left unsaid. ‘I know, I know.’

  She locates the registration code. It’s easy, because Anne-Lise has entered the codes in the library catalogue. She chats with Iben for a few moments to steady herself before fetching the boxes. As she passes Anne-Lise’s desk, she makes an effort to say hello.

  The Polish documents are buried at the back of the library, on shelving left from the days when the City Council kept its archives there. On the way out, pushing a small trolley with five boxes, Malene feels she must say something.

  ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Fine.’ Anne-Lise asks no questions.

  Malene pushes the trolley along to the Large Meeting Room. The board meets there every other month, but it too has gradually filled up with bookshelves and, despite its name, the room is mainly used by visitors who want to read in peace.

  Frederik stops by Iben’s and Malene’s desks for a chat before going off with Malene to start on the boxes.

  After lunch Paul turns up. He checks his mail in his office and then drifts back into the Winter Garden. They see at once his phoney nonchalance and know it means trouble.

  ‘Look, Malene, we’ve got something to discuss, you and I. Why don’t you drop in as soon as it suits you?’

  Malene gets up. ‘Now, if you like.’

  Camilla is at her desk. Malene makes sure to close Paul’s door.

  ‘Have a seat, Malene.’ One of Paul’s hands moves towards his chin. ‘Look, we made a deal yesterday.’

  ‘Yes, we did.’

  ‘It’s now Anne-Lise’s responsibility to work directly with users on anything to do with the library.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Paul always speaks carefully when he has to be managerial. ‘Have you decided … not to keep your promise?’

  ‘Not at all. Only, Frederik and I have been working together a lot. I just wanted to help him.’

  ‘Only Frederik. Then you have referred everyone else to Anne-Lise?’

  ‘Not yet. We only agreed on this yesterday, but I will do it.’

  Paul says nothing, just looks at her.

  Malene studies the backs of the photo-frames on Paul’s desk. They cast pale, angular shadows across the piles of paper. Then she looks up. ‘You must have spoken with Anne-Lise?’

  ‘No. I asked Frederik how the new system was working.’

  Malene thinks this sounds unlikely.

  Then, in a different tone of voice, Paul says, ‘What you
achieved by contacting the Austrian foundations was really impressive.’

  ‘Thanks. The embassy made a lot of good suggestions.’

  Then, without warning, Paul suddenly changes the subject again. ‘I was under the impression that the door to the library was meant to be kept open. Right?’

  ‘It will be, but we can’t open it until Camilla’s desk has been moved. And that can’t be done until Bjarne fixes the network links and all the plugs.’

  Paul inhales, a brisk little reverse puff.

  Malene speaks quickly. ‘I’m not the one dealing with it.’

  ‘I didn’t think so, Malene. But have you told Camilla that the sockets and the rest of it must be done as soon as possible?’

  ‘Actually, yes, I have. I didn’t quite put it like that, but I did tell her. And I reminded her it should be soon. She says that it’s cheaper if we let Bjarne pick a day when he’s not too busy. Presumably he’s had a lot on this week.’

  Paul starts sifting through some papers. ‘OK. I’ll speak to Camilla about this.’

  After the meeting in Paul’s office, Malene goes to the kitchen to make fresh coffee. Iben turns up, but so does Frederik: he wants to get hold of more court documents from Poland.

  The DCGI archive holds one of the world’s largest collections of documents relating to the ethnic cleansing of Germans from the Polish regions. It is the result of Paul’s sometimes rather unconventional methods of developing the Centre’s assets. Some two years ago he persuaded an academic friend of his to offer a year’s research fellowship to a Polish sociologist whom Paul had promised to help. In return, the sociologist was charged with driving around the Polish provinces and photocopying all the relevant papers he could get hold of, mostly from town halls, courts and churches.

  Malene has met the Pole, a thin, opinionated man, whose views put him well to the right of any Danish sociologist she has ever come across. He must have been photocopying for a year non-stop – or made somebody else do it. His collection of material, never before archived in the same place, arrived inside 278 cardboard boxes, filling three containers. Some of the documents looked remarkably like originals.

  The Pole obtained a temporary work permit through inscrutable channels and before it expired he found himself a Danish wife and went to live with her in Odense. When Frederik announces that he needs additional documentation, Iben and Malene exchange a quick glance.

  Iben nods towards Malene, inviting her to tell him what has been decided. Malene explains quietly and precisely – very properly – that, from now on, all requests for books and documents must be presented to Anne-Lise.

  Frederik clearly finds the new order strange and says something to that effect.

  Malene looks from him to Iben and back again, before she speaks up, not minding if her tone is sarcastic. ‘Well, that’s what teamwork is all about: adjusting to what the other person needs or wants.’ She raises her mug in a kind of toast. The movement is so energetic that some of the coffee slops over. ‘So, that’s how it’s going to be.’

  Frederik leans against the kitchen counter and gives her a quizzical look. ‘It sounds oddly formal to me.’

  Malene wipes the dribbles off the mug with her finger. ‘We aren’t that formal, are we, Iben?’

  ‘Guess not.’

  Malene touches Frederik’s arm to steer him towards the door. ‘Frederik, you go back to your reading. I’ll go and tell Anne-Lise what you want and then she’ll bring it to you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Not at all. From now on you’ll be working together with Anne-Lise. Just as we all try to do.’

  Later that afternoon Malene and Frederik get together in the meeting room to discuss the English version of the invitation to the conference. They sit side by side at the large table, scribbling changes on Malene’s printout. Malene’s green marker pen dominates the top of the sheet, while Frederik’s additions in blue biro snake around the lines in the last paragraph.

  Anne-Lise knocks and enters the room. ‘Hello there. Am I disturbing you?’

  ‘Not at all.’

  ‘Oh, good.’

  Anne-Lise pauses briefly and looks at Frederik. ‘Frederik, we have the documents you want from the courts in Gryfice, Lobez and Nowograd, but not from Koszalin.’

  Anne-Lise walks towards the table. She looks self-assured enough, but somehow her usually earnest expression seems about to disintegrate.

  ‘Places down there have several names, of course, so when I recorded the items in our Polish collection I took special care to enter automatic links into the database. The cross-referencing should ensure that everything is easy to locate, regardless of whether you search the German or the Polish name. Even so, I did take the precaution of starting a new search using the German name for Koszalin, which is Köslin, with a German “ö” and there are no documents under that name either.’

  Anne-Lise must have prepared this little talk, her first customer since Paul’s directive. Malene notices that her eye-liner has been freshened up, probably just before she came in.

  With an obvious effort, she turns to Malene. ‘So, I went on to phone a string of offices in Koszalin. I was told that all the papers in the town had been taken to the German Bundesarchiv’s “Ostdok” division in Bayreuth. I phoned Bayreuth and got them to give me the details of where the Koszalin documents are stored. Look, I’ve written down the phone number and I have an email address for you as well.’

  Malene’s arms are stretched across the table top. One elbow obscures some of the text that she and Frederik have been working on.

  She hesitates, then glances at Frederik. ‘I could’ve sworn the documents were here. How strange.’

  Anne-Lise sounds more certain now. ‘But they’re not. I’ve checked everything carefully. I’m quite sure.’

  ‘Right, of course. If you say so.’

  Anne-Lise puts a sheet of paper on the table. On it she’s written a few names, a phone number and an email address.

  ‘She’ll get your documents. I just wanted to keep you informed. I’ll phone these people myself.’

  Frederik has also placed an elbow on the conference printout. He looks up at Anne-Lise and sounds a little confused.

  ‘Did you say “all the papers in the town” a moment ago? You do know, don’t you, that I wasn’t looking for papers from the town of Kozsalin?’

  Anne-Lise blinks. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Koszalin is the name of a province as well as a town. It’s the documents from the small county courts in the province that I need.’

  ‘In the province …?’

  Malene picks up the piece of paper with the address written on it. ‘Oh, Frederik, look! It’s Ilona’s address!’

  Fredrik casts an eye on the paper. ‘Is it? I can’t remember.’

  ‘Yes, of course it is!’

  Before Frederik has time to reply, Anne-Lise speaks up: ‘Malene! Didn’t you tell me to look for the Koszalin court?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ Malene looks at her blandly. ‘I never said that. I know very well that we haven’t a single document from a town of that size. What I said was “the documents from Koszalin and from the courts in Grufice, Lobez and Nowograd”.’

  One of Anne-Lise’s heels taps audibly against the linoleum-covered floor. ‘Maybe you said—’

  ‘I did say “the documents from Koszalin”.’

  Anne-Lise purses her mouth. Her lips tighten. She seems on the verge of saying something aggressive, but thinks better of it.

  The room is filled for a moment by the dull rumble of a bus passing in the street.

  Malene breaks the silence. ‘I’m one hundred per cent sure of what I said, you know.’

  Anne-Lise doesn’t answer.

  Malene tries a smile. ‘Anne-Lise, I can understand perfectly well how irritating it must be to have picked up the wrong end of the stick. Maybe I should’ve expressed myself more clearly, but it seemed much more complicated to say it all. We have documents from five courts in
the province of Koszalin. Their names are Bielograd, Darlowo, Swidwin, Zlocieniek and Kolobrzeg.

  In the street outside another large diesel engine follows the bus.

  Then Malene continues: ‘But you’re the one who’s spent weeks and weeks typing all the information into the database. It simply didn’t occur to me that you wouldn’t know.’ Malene breaks off at that point.

  Frederik tries to be just as sympathetic. ‘Don’t worry about it. It doesn’t matter.’

  Anne-Lise is no longer looking at either of them. She straightens up and appears determined.

  ‘I’ll find what you want at once. Now that I know exactly what to look for, it’ll take no time at all.’

  Malene clutches one of her hands in the other. ‘Great. You’ll manage just fine.’

  15

  On Wednesday evening one of Rasmus’s old friends turns up to talk. Malene fidgets about elsewhere, in the bedroom, the kitchen, the hallway.

  She can’t help thinking about the office. I did say ‘the documents from Koszalin’, she tells herself bad-temperedly. Then, suddenly, the evening is over. By the time Rasmus’s friend leaves, she has already taken a tablet for her headache.

  Both Malene and Rasmus are tired. They sit leaning against the sofa cushions, one in each corner with their feet in each other’s lap. Malene does her finger exercises.

  She asks Rasmus what Jonas wanted. It seems Jonas has problems at work.

  The sound of the clock radio. Toes on the tiled bathroom floor. Toothpaste. Wafts of damp air from the shower. The smell of Rasmus’s deodorant. Cotton wool. Low-fat yoghurt. Coffee.

  When Malene turns up at the Centre on Thursday morning, the others are all in the Winter Garden, standing round Camilla’s chair. Malene glances quickly at Camilla, and sees that she must have been crying.

  Even before Malene puts her bag down, Paul explains: ‘Camilla has received one of the emails too.’

  He hands Malene a printout.

  ANYBODY WHO HOSTS OR GIVES HELP TO OUR ENEMIES IS

  OUR ENEMY. YOU, CAMILLA BATZ, WILL DISCOVER THAT